Letters to a High Functioning Sociopath
by Pakmai
Summary: Picking up after Letters to a Soldier, John is back in Afghanistan and Sherlock is still in London, with only letters to connect them. Will absence make the heart grow fonder, or will the distance be too boring for the consulting detective? Johnlock.
1. Chapter 1

**This is part 2 to my stor Letters to a Soldier. Picking up a few weeks after the other one ended. I will be starting off in letter format again but there may be other scenes in between if I think that it's needed or something. I hope you all enjoy it as much as you enjoyed the first part!**

**I do not own anything Sherlock, I am just playing in Doyle, Moffat and Gatiss' sandbox. :)**

**As always, any reviews/comments are welcome, and after this all Author's Notes will be at the bottom.**

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><p>The night was quiet, when John finally got a chance to write to Sherlock. He had thought about the man a lot, perhaps more than he cared to admit, but he didn't mind admitting that he missed the eccentric young man. Still, the doctor glared at the page in front of him, the remnants of two failed letters shredded around him. Finally, John forced himself to calm down and focus, slowly starting his letter.<p>

~oOo~

Dear Sherlock,

Sorry that it took for long for me to write, by the time you get this it will be almost a month since I left. I hope you're doing well and haven't gotten into too much trouble, by yourself. Things were sort of a mess when I came back, we had gotten some new people in who didn't get proper orientation to the camp or the infirmary, which means I had to spend a week correcting everything that had been misplaced. I'm not exactly sure how they were able to mess things up so bloody thoroughly, but it was a right mess.

I know we didn't mention it but I think we should discuss New Year's eve and the, ah, kiss. We were both intoxicated and I'm sure it was just some experiment on your part. I just don't want it to make things weird between us. It was just something that happened, no need to make anything more of it than that, I say. Anyway, I just didn't want you to think I was upset over it or something.

It's been unbearably hot here, especially after the cold of London. I long to be cold again. I suppose I shouldn't say unbearably, you will probably scold me and say that apparently I am bearing it just fine. The nights are the best time, here. They are cool and quiet, since most everyone is asleep. I can't sleep tonight though. Not entirely sure why. I think my mind just won't shut off. I keep thinking about London and the differences in how I felt there versus how I feel about being back here.

Oh. I do have a new nurse. I doubt you'd like her. She's very smart and witty. She always finds a way to make me smile or laugh when I've had a particularly bad or long day. Being around her is relaxing. Kind of like being around you in an odd sort of way. But also completely different.

I hope you didn't get rid of any of those board games, either. I still want to play Cluedo with you next time I get leave. Not sure when that will be, certainly not in the near future. I hope that you're not forgetting to eat or anything, and that you figured out whatever had you in your mind palace for almost a week straight. That was a touch odd. Not that I know you well enough to say that. But then, think of it, I think I do, yeah. You never talk about your Mind Palace much, I would love to hear more about it.

I'm not sure that I have anything important to tell you besides that. Oh. I did forget my Christmas presents there in my rush. You can mail them, if you want, or if you could look after them for me, that would be great too. Let me know how you're doing. I worry a bit about you. Would hate for you to get into trouble. Well, I'm off for bed so I will say goodnight. I look forward to your letter.

Sincerely,

John

~oOo~

Shaking his head a little as he read the letter, Sherlock reads it again just to make sure he didn't miss anything. To be perfectly honest with himself, the flat felt empty without the good doctor bustling around, scolding him or just generally chatting. It was annoying at first but he became accustomed to it in a short time. Gently, the detective puts aside the letter to think on his reply before he goes back to his laptop to look at the listing for flats he has been looking at recently.


	2. Chapter 2

Even though he has the urge to write back right away, Sherlock takes his time and a few days to get his thoughts in order. The John from his Mind Palace is being unusually elusive so he can't even ask him anything more about their previous conversation. Finally, he pulls out John's letter to read it over again and make sure that he is able to reply to everything he wants to. Sitting near the window and watching the snow fall down, the detective tries to imagine if what he was seeing was the sand, dunes and heat that John is no doubt dealing with at the moment. With the fire roaring at his back, however, it's very difficult. Still, for John's sake, he tries, before looking down at his paper and beginning his letter.

~oOo~

Dear John,

There was one case with Detective Inspector Lestrade that I was invited in on since you've been gone. Unfortunately it was boring. I solved it in less than a day and had the killer in custody. The criminal classes really are not trying. It's not even worth going into the details about. I wonder how the likes of Anderson get to be in a position of prestige when he cannot even follow basic procedures and use the eyes he was born with. Lestrade also inquired a little about you, apparently he was rather intrigued by your presence at the previous crime scene. I assured him you would not be a regular guest, considering you are overseas at the moment. That fact seemed to both please and discourage him.

However, I did not get into any 'trouble' as you so plainly put it. I did not get injured or arrested. Though I did note that Anderson's wife must be out of town, and that he's started a relationship with Donovan. Given by the state of her knees, she and Anderson must have a very physical relationship. The others must either be turning a blind eye or they are particularly dense not to have noticed yet.

I'm looking for a new flat. Your attack has shown me that while this neighborhood was not particularly unsafe when I first moved here it has become increasingly unsafe. And the landlord is getting increasingly annoying when I decide to do experiments. I need something that will be on the top floor of a building. I believe it will provide me with better ventilation. I will, of course, provide my new address once I find someplace suitable, however that is proving most difficult.

While your concern is understandable given your status as a doctor, I feel that I should remind you I have lived on my own for quite a few years without someone there to remind me to feed myself or sleep. I am quite capable of such things, and as you saw, am in healthy condition despite the fact that I do not eat like a horse. I do know how to get enough food to keep myself healthy without bogging my body and brain down with unnecessary calories.

I will put your tea sampler in a package, as well as your lap desk, as those I believe will travel well, but I will keep the tea pot here, to reduce the likelihood that it will get broken on its way to you. I will mail them when I mail this letter, though the package will likely take longer to get to you.

As to my Mind Palace, it is a difficult thing to explain to someone like you. I am able to visualize rooms which hold all my knowledge. The appearance is pulled from places that I have been or have seen. There is a greenhouse, for example, which holds my knowledge of botany, different plans and insects. There are some very dark places full of things I do not want to remember. They resemble dungeons last time I was close to them. Sometimes my mind creates mental versions of people I know for me to talk to and work out problems. Knowledge is store in books and folders, filing cabinets, things that are easy for me to search through.

It is a relaxation and memory technique which has served me well, though recently it has become somewhat vexing. I suppose you could say that I got some advice from my subconscious, and my mind is not forthcoming in its explanations.

I should pursue that further in fact. I hope that you got some rest. I intend to do the same. It's snowing here, by the way. Even though most of it had melted before. It made me think of how warm you said it was there, and how you might like a bit of snow now. Indeed, it's odd how accustomed I became to your presence.

Goodnight, John.

Sincerely

Sherlock

~oOo~

The odd way that the letter ends actually makes John smile a little, since he knows the reason behind it. He leans back against the pillows on his cot, putting an arm behind his head before he looks down at the letter again. He knows that the detective was feeling sentimental, and that's why he abruptly ended the letter. It doesn't seem like something he is very good at. Sentiment. The doctor smiles a little as he folds the letter, pressing it between his chest and his hand for a moment as he conjures an image of the man, chuckling a little before he tucks the letter away safely with the others. He still didn't address the kiss, but it seems like maybe he will in his own time. Maybe John isn't the only one who was confused by it.

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><p><strong>Wow. I totally did not expect this. My phone alerts for my email have been going INSANE ever since I posted the last chapter. I didn't expect this kind of response, but then it seems I always underestimate you guys. Thank you everyone for your wonderful reviews, I hope you like this chapter as well as the last. Getting the wonderful reviews and support from you guys makes me feel ten times better and makes me WANT to write. So thank you for that, I haven't felt that in a few weeks. So here is another chapter for you, I hope you enjoy!<strong>

**Reviews/Comments welcome!**


	3. Chapter 3

When John sits down again to write his own letter, this time early in the morning during a lull in his duties, he is reminded that there is one glaring thing missing from the letter Sherlock wrote. He doesn't mention the kiss. Not even in passing. There is no mention of New Year's Eve at all, in fact. Frowning a little in concern as he re-reads the letter again, John considers what he should do. He could bring it up again and try and get the detective to talk about it, but that might make it seem like a big deal. Which it's not. It was just a drunken.. something. Then again, John muses, why is he so concerned about it in the first place? It was nothing, and this just proves it. Sherlock is not one to mince words so if he hadn't mentioned it, then or not, it must mean either Sherlock does not remember it or it meant so little to him that he deleted it already. Deciding once and for all to put that out of his mind, John instead focuses on his friend and the other interesting things he wrote.

~oOo~

Dear Sherlock,

Thanks for explaining your mind palace to me. It sounds fascinating, and I wish that I could see it for myself. Short of discovering telepathy - which I think even for you is pretty far outside probability - I'll have to content myself with your description. Sounds like it could also be a form of psychotherapy for yourself if you're able to interact directly with a form of your subconscious like that. If something traumatic happens, does that change what it looks like to you? Do your moods affect it? Sorry if I seem nosy, but this is really interesting to me. I like finding out how your mind works, bloody genius that you are.

I would really like to hear about the cases that you've been going on as well. Even if you think they're simple or not worth explaining, you might want to consider that not everyone is as brilliant as you. So some of us might find it more interesting than you think. Still, were Donovan and Anderson giving you that hard of a time? You really should put in a complaint with the department. And if you're going to keep working with them you need to get some sort of identification. Proper identification as a consultant or something. They should be paying you for your help. Besides, it might help legally. What if they had to explain something you had told them? If they are such idiots, you know they wouldn't be able to do that, and then the court case would get thrown out and a murderer could run free. I know you like to think that you're only interested in the puzzle, but I also know that you wouldn't let a murderer go free if there was something you could do about it.

Hopefully you find something in a nicer neighborhood. For your flat, that is. The one you were in wasn't bad, it was a bit cozy. I still somehow expected to see you in a more modern surroundings, when I first got there. The more traditional bricks and woods seem to fit you though. There's something very classic about it that compliments you, or your lifestyle, rather. Not sure what you'll find that you can afford though. I know you said you got assistance from your family and such in that department and it's none of my business either, I just think that given your relationship with your family it might be a good idea to make sure you don't have to rely on them. That way they can't use that money to hold over your head if they want you to do something. It always seemed strange that you would rely on them for this when you're so independent. And you clearly hate your brother. Though I can understand why. Seems a bit of a git to me. A well dressed, arrogant, stuck up git.

As for the goings on here, I did receive your package with the teas and stuff. The lads took the mickey out of me for that. The tea, not the writing desk. It's alright, though. Just a bit of fun, I'm sure the first time that I actually make any of it, they'll be wanting to try a bit. And then they'll get what's coming to them, because I'm not likely to share when they gave me such a hard time about it. Glad to have the writing desk though, writing in my bunk will be a lot easier now. It's a little awkward sometimes.

It seems like everyone here had a good Christmas, whether they stayed here or got some leave time. It's been good to get caught up with everyone. It's odd, the way things feel now. I suppose going back to London, and going on that case with you and everything reminded me that there is actually more to life than what I've been doing, and it made me think that there might be something beyond this that I could do. Or at least that I might have a chance at another life. A lot of soldiers have problems with that transition, and I'm not sure that I would be any better, even if I am more a doctor than a soldier. I'm not exactly out in the fight afterall. At least I can fall back on my skills as a surgeon and doctor. Easier to get hired someplace, I suppose.

Well, looks like I have a patient, so my coffee break is over. I hope you're doing well, let me know how the hunt for the flat goes. And seriously, I do like to know about your cases, I find it interesting.

Sincerely,

John

~oOo~

Sherlock is in a cab while reading the letter, on the way to look at a promising flat, in a nicer neighborhood and it's on the top floor like he was looking for. Pulling out his phone, he considers if he should take a picture or two and send it to John, if he decides to take it. Then he frowns at himself, displease with this new instinct to share most everything with the doctor, almost as if he's seeking approval. Which he's not of course, but he doesn't like the appearance of it. Folding the letter back up, he tucks it into his inside jacket pocket, glancing up at the building as the cab stops, paying and then stepping out and looking up at it, nodding thoughtfully. Yes, Sherlock muses, This is a good start. And as much as he hates to admit it, he does think John would approve of the neighborhood.

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><p><strong>And another one! It's much easier for me to write the letters at the moment, so it looks like my updating will be a bit more regular. So far, at least. :) Thank you again for your support, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!<strong>

**Reviews/Comments welcome!**


	4. Chapter 4

Once he returned home from viewing the flat, Sherlock took the letter out of his jacket to read it again, and think about John's questions in regard to his Mind Palace. He never bothered to make these observations himself since to him it doesn't matter as much what it looks like as how it suits his needs. After getting himself a cup of tea, then detective sits down to formulate a reply.

~oOo~

Dear John,

I never really paid any attention to whether or not my mind palace shifted depending on my moods or events in my life. However, I have thought about it and gone to it to evaluate it, and I have found that certain things can often be different. The weather, such as it is, can be influenced by my emotional state but I believe external forces also influence it. When it's raining outside for example, if I can hear it, it may seem to be raining outside my mind palace. However, there is the possibility of violent thunderstorms if my mind is in turmoil. I determined this by playing a series of nature sounds and observing the results, while also subjecting myself to things that change my emotional state, such as thoughts of Mycroft.

I believe I have located a new flat which is suitable, the only step left is to read over the lease the landlord gave me. Landlords often try and take advantage of prospective tenants as well as younger people such as myself. Interestingly enough some get rather cross over their contracts being questioned when I find flaws or unacceptable terms.

There is something I feel I must address from your letter. You stated that previously you may not have viewed life outside of the army as something you wished for. That you weren't sure if you would be able to find suitable employment, etc. I wanted to assure you that even through our brief acquaintance? I believe you have many marketable skills that would get you a job. Of course, you're young and attractive, and many women find soldiers to be attractive, therefore you could attempt to attain a rich wife. On second thought, perhaps it would be better to rely on your medical training.

As for the case, it was simple as I said. A man appeared to have been murdered inside his home without any trace of the murder weapon. Hard to tell what led the detective's to think of murder since the man was in his bathroom on the floor, no bullet wounds, strangulation or knife wounds. Yet the man was dead. Upon closer inspection of the body I noticed bruising on one leg, which disguised needle marks. Most likely the man was diabetic, as a brief search of his medicine cabinet confirmed. I found another mark however, whose bruise had not yet had time to develop, just behind the ear. A cursory look around the bathroom found a broken syringe behind the toilet, obscured by some cleaning items. Lestrade was able to test it and found insulin residue, as well as several fingerprints.

It turns out the murderer or murderers in this case was his jealous girlfriend, who imagined that he had been seeing or perhaps merely flirting with women that he worked with. He was in the fashion industry you see, so he was around presumably attractive women quite a bit. From all the evidence, her jealousy was unwarranted, however her passions got the best of her. She used his syringe and insulin, injecting it just behind his ear. The dosage was fatal. She was quite emotional when she was arrested, and rather aggressive as well.

You seem to be full of advice now that you're back in Afghanistan. Has your visit and return given you some new closure or insights? That seems highly unlikely. However, I assure you that I am not, as you said, relying on my family financially or in any other way. Nor do I have a desire to. The flat is well within my monetary means, and I have other cases besides those with the police, for which I get paid.

The evaluation of my brother is accurate. You can imagine what my childhood was like, and what my parents are like. Feel yourself lucky if you never meet them. My father at least is dead, so it's only my mother Mycroft and I have to contend with. Meddling woman that she is.

Seems Lestrade is incapable of solving yet another murder, as I just got a call requesting my assistance at a crime scene. It seems any further ponderings will have to wait. I hope your patients are minor, and you are experiencing some peace.

Sincerely,

Sherlock

~oOo~

There's a part of John that feels bad for Sherlock, and the kind of relationship he obviously has with his parents, and how that influenced the man that he became. But at the same time he's glad that things happened the way they did because otherwise Sherlock would not be Sherlock, and he might not have gotten to know the brilliant man. Sighing a little, John carefully tucks the letter away safely and then ducks out of the tent to look up at the starry sky, smiling a little as he looks down at the cigarette in his hands. He swore after he got out of training that he would never pick up another one, but he feels like he needed it tonight, and in a very strange way it makes him feel closer to the detective even though he's thousands of miles away. Taking a last drag of it, he blows the smoke out into the still air of the night, before he stubs it out, looking back up at the stars again. A part of him wonders what the detective is doing at the moment, and if everything went ok with the case.

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><p><strong>Aww. John. Thinking of Sherlock. Hope you all enjoy the chapter!<strong>

**Reviews/Comments welcome!**


	5. Chapter 5

There are many things in John's life that he may consider mistakes, and a few that he wishes he could erase, certainly. Sitting with a few guys after he's off duty, playing poker and drinking he would certainly regret when he was hung over in the morning. The fact that in his intoxicated state he thought it would be a good idea to write a letter to Sherlock, that is something that he likely won't regret, because he can reveal more when his stoicism and need to keep everything inside is pushed away by the alcohol. Still, he finds himself in his bunk, squinting at the paper before he starts to write, handwriting a little more unsteady in his current state, as well as feeling rather angry and riled up about the thoughts circling his head.

~oOo~

Dear Sherlock,

You are brilliant. I mean it. The way you see and process things is so far outside how anyone else can see things. You're a real genius. Brilliant. I could never hope to keep up with you. I wonder how long until you get bored of me. I feel like being around you is like staring into a fire, hoping not to get burned but unable to stay away from it, because its mesmerized you. I can't stay away either. I know I will get burned, maybe the fire will consume me. I don't care. I can't be away from you now that I know you.

I think about you all the time. Which is strange, and it makes me uneasy. You're my best mate, which is kind of odd, right? And then there is the fact that you look so striking. Just the way you look. Your eyes are like, I don't know. Ice and sky and grass. They are amazing, and the rest of you is like a bloody statue. Your cheekbones could cut, I swear, and your skin is like porcelain. And I should not think these things about a bloody bloke!

You are a man, you have no right to be so bloody beautiful to me. I'm a man, and a straight man. I enjoy spending time with women. I like their voices, and their curves, and their smiles. I like lots about them. I should not be thinking about you. Or the bloody kiss, you bastard. The kiss! Which you've ignored. You did it. You pulled me in for a kiss. This is your bloody fault. You have no right to kiss that way. So.. nicely, with soft lips, and you smell really nice too.. no! You are not allowed to do that. Why do you do that? I am not gay, I should not like kissing a man. Not you. And then you act like it's all normal. I try and ask and you ignore it, what is that about?! Do you not care? Is this some sort of experiment, or what?!

It's not fair that I should think these things, or think about you, or be distracted like when I had a crush on a girl in bloody college! It's not fair and you need to stop. Stop distracting me. Stop being so brilliant and pretty. Or at least give me an explanation. Yes. There is an answer and you have it. So give it to me.

It's just, I am a thirty-something year old man. I am supposed to know these things. know myself. Why don't I know myself? You've shown me more things I did not know about myself. I was fine. And now it feels like my world is in a blender. And I might like you, Sherlock. As in, romantically like you. And that scares the bloody hell out of me. I am not gay. I don't like any others. Just you. Why are you the exception?

Oh. It's late. I have to be in tomorrow. I hope you're ok after your case. No. Stop it. Not supposed to worry, so you better be fine, you bastard.

Sincerely,

John

~oOo~

Sherlock is certainly given a lot to think about with that letter, though to him it is obvious that John was drunk. He also knows that being drunk merely seems to take away John's inhibitions, not change his mind completely a out things. So the doctor was attracted to him. He thought he was, especially given his reaction to the kiss. As he stares out the window and considers everything, he touches his lips and remembers the kiss, allowing a soft smile to curve his lips because though generally he has never enjoyed kissing in the past he did with his soldier. Yes, this gives him quite a lot to think about, and a challenge to overcome.

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><p><strong>And John throws yet another curve ball at Sherlock. And yes, I have used the drunkdrinking thing a few times, but to me it doesn't seem unrealistic, since these letters are weeks apart. It's not like it's every day. Some of this letter may not make a lot of sense, but that was deliberate, John knows what he's talking about, but whether he gets it across to Sherlock is another matter. Anyway, I know it's different and I hope you enjoy. It's been a lot easier for me to get back into the letter writing and I can update much faster. :)**

**Reviews/Comments welcome!**


	6. Chapter 6

It takes a bit longer than normal for Sherlock to respond to the letter because he's not exactly sure how to, and he has to consult his own feelings on the matter, which is a little difficult. That, and he was in the middle of moving to his new flat. Finally, he finds a comfortable corner of his new flat to write in, tapping his pen on the paper for a few moments before he starts to write.

~oOo~

Dear John,

I think perhaps you should try not to write letters when you're intoxicated. I am sure that once you realized what you wrote you will regret it. Unfortunately for you, there's nothing to do about it now. I have the letter, and those things you have written cannot be taken back.

You're not the only one confused by your feelings, however. I have yet to figure out my own about yours, but I think they may be similar. Unlike you, I have never labeled myself when it came to my sexuality. It was something I only explored briefly during University. It seemed useless and had no purpose, so I quickly pushed it aside in favor of scientific pursuit. I was able to see attraction, to read the signs of it and even use it to my advantage. I am not unaware that some people find me attractive. However, it has been some time since I found someone tolerable enough to form a physical attraction or attachment to them.

You accuse me of doing something, but I could accuse you of the same. You are a contradiction which I find rather attraction. And I say this without the influence of alcohol. I kissed you on New Year's Eve, because I was curious. I did not enjoy it during previous experiments but I was never particularly attracted to my subjects. I wanted to see if my opinion might change when true attraction was involved. Testing my theory as any good scientist would. I didn't expect quite the response that I got when I kissed you. Nor did I expect you to respond the way you did. Although you did seem to find my presence interesting, even desirable, I did not think it would extend to a physical attraction. I am a bit glad that I was wrong.

The contradiction you present makes you a mystery I feel as if I have to unravel. You are a doctor, and a soldier. You can take lives or restore them. And you feel equal loyalty to both. Yet you know that one career will end, you still wish to pursue the other. It is interesting that you are aware of your feelings and yet reject them when you're sober. But are the feelings real? I find it difficult to believe that a man of your age who, as you said, is not attracted to any other man, would find some sort of attraction to me. The more likely scenario is that you are attracted to my intellect. Afterall, your letter started out by praising my intelligence, before you moved onto my physical attributes.

If that is the case, I would find it most disappointing, but I value your friendship. Perhaps you should take some time to re-evaluate. We can discuss it again someday, after Christmas is not so fresh in your mind and any lingering inclination you might have felt due to proximity will be gone. It is best to be sure in these types of situations, don't you agree? I, however, am most sure of how I feel, and whether it is as your friend, or something more, I wish to continue writing letters to you and be some small part of your life. You once said that we would be eachother's rock. We would cling to eachother as a point of solidity in the darkness. You are the light to my darkness, John. And I wish it to always be that way. The friendship we share keeps the darkness at bay and keeps me on the correct path. I wish to be a better man for you, John. Perhaps we will become old men, still writing eachother letters.

I should inform you that I have moved, and my new address will be included in the bottom of the letter. For now, I believe I shall let you get back to your work. I look forward to your next letter.

Sincerely,

Sherlock

~oOo~

John probably would have been less shocked if Sherlock had showed up at the base and punched him than what he just read in the letter. The possibility that someone like Sherlock might actually find interest in someone like him is beyond anything. It is unusual, frightening, and thrilling all at the same time. There is some wisdom in what Sherlock said, though. To make sure that this isn't just some school boy crush, not some flight of fancy or withdrawal from being in the detective's intoxicating presence, he should put aside the feelings for now. Not forget them, or try to ignore them, merely set them aside for a moment and observe them, see what becomes of them. If they stay, then they warrant further consideration, and if not, then he'll brush it off as a fluke and be done with it. But he determined quickly that he was not going to abandon Sherlock, not when the man needed someone to be his friend, someone to talk to him. No, that was something which would be unconscionable.

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><p><strong>Sherlock can open up in his own unique way. I think he's just not exactly sure how sometimes. Silly man. :)<strong>

**Reviews/Comments welcome!**


	7. Chapter 7

Feeling much better over the next few days, John settles in a little more, feeling more like himself than he has in weeks. Before he knows it though, Valentine's Day past and over, and it's nearly March when he gets to writing another letter, using the portable desk that he got for Christmas, smiling a little as he pulls out the paper and pen. He's got more to tell Sherlock this time, and maybe he did procrastinate a bit because he was embarrassed over the letter he had sent the detective. But now, he takes a deep breath, putting his thoughts in some sort of order before relaxing and starting to write.

~oOo~

Dear Sherlock,

Thank you. You're the strangest man I've ever met, and yet you've always known what to say. What I need to hear. it may not be what I think that I need to hear, but in the end it work out alright and it always helps. I do need to take a step back and let things settle, and since I figured that out, I've been more myself. I'm focused, settling into my job again, and connecting with the others more like I used to.

It's a little flattering to know that I can confused Sherlock Holmes just by being myself. If that's not a boost to an ego, I don't know what is. I've always been this way, so I can't give you any insights into why I'm such a contradiction. Since I was young, I wanted to be a doctor. I wanted to help people, be able to perform miracles, and give people their lives back. I didn't come from a rich family, so I thought that the easiest way to do what I wanted to do was to join the army. They helped get me through school, and I found out that I had a knack for it. I had a few anger issues in school, got into a few fights and such. So the army also gave me the discipline I needed at the time. Now that I think about it, I guess the contradiction was always there, the desire to help people, and the physical need to protect the weak.

You have so little faith, Sherlock. We're friends, and our friendship isn't going to go away just because I'm having a bit of an identity crisis. I know, we promised to be that rock for eachother. Help eachother through the dark times. Yours or mine. And I keep my promises. I'll do whatever I can to help you if you're having trouble, or if you need someone to talk to. We have a bond that I've not really experienced with anyone else, in my life. I've had mates, in school, through the years in the army. No one that I've felt as close a connection to as I do with you, though. This is a friendship that is going to stand the test of time. I have no doubt that we'll still be friends when we're old and gray, even if it hurts to hold our pens, I'm sure that we'll find a way to write letters to eachother, if we aren't living close enough to visit. I'm glad that I can help you. That was the reason you had to write me in the first place, isn't it? I'm sure the people at the clinic wanted you to connect with someone, give you a reason to stay on your path. I'm very glad that I was the one to receive your letter.

I almost forgot to tell you. Julia, the new nurse I told you about, said that she has a brother who lives in London that she was talking about. Sounds like someone that you might get along with, she said he's a genius, brilliant planner. She said that he always sees how things connect, how one thing leads to another and has been an advisor for a number of business men. Some of them very powerful, apparently, but she doesn't know who or what he does specifically, she said her brother couldn't tell her. Confidentiality and all that. We work together a lot, and things have been pretty routine around here, so we've had a lot of time to talk since we end up on the same shifts. The way she talks about her brother though, I'm surprised that she's older than him. Apparently he dotes on her though, and did not want her going overseas. She's very independent though, so here she is.

I had a cigarette a few weeks ago. I smoked when I was younger for a short time, and when I quit, I promised myself that I wouldn't pick it up again. Maybe it's a little hypocritical, given what a hard time I gave you about smoking and the fact that as a doctor I should know better. But at the time I wasn't a doctor. And I do know better. It was calming, with everything that I was going through so I couldn't help myself. Plus I have to admit, smoking and staring up at the stars, it made me think of you and made me feel closer to you. I know that sounds a little weird but it was calming, and comforting. Which just makes me a bloody idiot. Now I have to fight that urge again. Even Julia yelled at me when she found out. Well, not yelled, but she did lecture me and then gave me a disapproving look that reminded me a bit of my mother. That in itself was a bit disturbing.

Bottom line is that I miss London, I miss being there with you. I don't mean that because of the letter I wrote before, I mean as a friend. It's just energizing and fascinating to be around you, even though sometimes it feels like I'm looking after a child who can't stop and remember to eat or sleep. And sometimes I think you are the dumbest genius in the world, but overall it's brilliant. I think I could even get used to helping you on cases though I'm pretty sure that I would be utterly useless when it comes to those. Still, I have a few more years before I can think about doing anything else with my life. And even when I can, I'm not sure what I will do. I guess I'll figure it out when it comes down to it.

My mind is drifting and it's almost time for dinner, after which I'm going to play another poker game with some of the others. This time I am just going to have water, maybe I can clean them out again, even while not intoxicated. I am very good at poker. I hope you're settling into your new flat, and that this letter finds you well. I'd love to hear about any cases that you have going on.

Sincerely,

John

~oOo~

Exhaling into the night air and watching his breath fog up, Sherlock finishes the letter and then tucks it inside his Belstaff. He's waiting for a suspect and had picked his mail up earlier, that letter the only bit of his mail that he deemed worth his time, so he tucked it into his jacket to read later. Looking up and down the street, the detective rubs his gloved hands together a little as he considers the contents of the letter as he finds himself wondering about this woman, Julia, and what kind of person she truly is. He's noticed that when it comes to judging people, John can be somewhat easily misled. Which means that he might be mistaken about the character of this Julia. Not to mention her relationship with her 'brother' seems suspicious to him, and he wishes that he had her last name so that he could do some research on his own, but as of right now, he has very little to go on. Sighing in frustrating, the brunette peeks around the corner of the alley he's standing in and gives a satisfied smile at the figure he sees moving down the street. "Finally.. The game is on, John." He mutters to no one in particular before he rounds the corner to follow his quarry.

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><p><strong>Bit more about John there. I hope Sherlock doesn't mess up the letter in his pursuit of the suspect. :) I might have a little surprise in store with Julia as well, but I haven't made up my mind. :) I do love when little twists come to mind. I hope you all enjoy the chapter, thank you for all your reviews, I'm so glad that you're liking part 2!<strong>

**Reviews/Comments welcome!**


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock gets his man and closes the case once again. Unfortunately he still does not really get along with Lestrade team, though the man himself tolerates the detective fairly well. Lestrade uses that to his advantage and so Sherlock is unable to write for some time, his moodiness finally clearing enough for him to get his thoughts in order and sit down and formulate a response to his doctor. When he finally puts pen to paper, his writing is a bit more jagged and sharp, already showing his mood even if the words weren't read.

~oOo~

Dear John,

Well, it seems as if you've found someone to keep you company. Odd that you should mention her so thoroughly in your letter and yet in have never heard you speak of any of your other friends or companions there. I must conclude that she must be particularly attractive or charming for you to mention her so thoroughly. As to meeting some stranger, I have no intentions of ever meeting her brother.

It seems, however, that I have some news to share on that front as well. I helped Lestrade with a case when I received your last letter, and of course Anderson and Donovan were there being bloody idiots. They cannot seem to keep themselves from being the idiots they are and are incapable of using what puny brains they have. Some of Anderson's mistakes were something I would expect of a student, not someone in charge of forensics at an active crime scene.

We may have exchanged words on this topic. After the case, Lestrade invited me out to some sort of celebratory event at a local pub. I declined, however he insisted that I attend. He threatened that if I cannot learn to get along with his team, that he would be unable to bring me on in future cases. Something that I found ridiculous. Why do I need to get along with everyone to solve a murder? The victim does not care if we argue, so long as justice is delivered. And I am more capable than Lestrade's whole so-called team, when it comes to solving the case.

I find the woman's behavior suspicious, but I could see nothing to prove her intentions were anything other than what they seemed. It's extremely vexing, John. There is something there, something I'm missing. What is it that I am missing? It's possible that I might have to subject myself to further socializing with Lestrade and his girlfriend in order to figure it out.

Apparently we both have new women in our lives that we are striving to figure out. Though I am not sure that yours has any right to lecture you about anything. She may be a nurse, but you are a doctor. She should give you a little more credit than that. Afterall, it was you who was lecturing me about my final vice. We all have our addictions, but it would be a bit of bad form if you were to pick up that particular habit, given your previous discussions on attempting to get me to stop.

This Julia seems a little suspicious as well. Why would she be so interested in telling you about her brother? Did she suggest that I meet him? Have you gotten to the point where you talk so freely about me to her? Given that it seemed I was a bit of a secret from your fellow soldiers, that surprises me. In either case, it seems like she talks very little about herself. That does not seem the sort of thing a person would normally do, especially if her goal is to get to know you, she would want information about you so she would share information about herself. What is her last name?

I suppose I could have Mycroft look up who is assigned to your particular unit. Owing that pompous ass anything else is not a place I want to find myself in, however. I suppose I will just have to rely on you telling me what her last name is. She must have some sort of ulterior motive. They always do.

That brings to mind an experiment I've been wanting to do. I have all the things that I need, and it is one that will take some time. There is nothing else I wish to share in this letter, so I believe I will go to it. I hope you are safe, John.

Sincerely,

Sherlock

~oOo~

After reading the letter, John isn't sure whether he should laugh, be amused or be very concerned. The detective seems a little more manic in his writing than he usually is. And that alone concerns John a little bit, but the thing that is amusing is that the madman seems to almost be... jealous. That's what he would certainly label it as if he didn't know any better. That would be a ridiculous thing to assume, however. Still, as John leans back in his bunk, he considers the answer to that, and also the idea of Sherlock getting closer to some people in London and some random girl. He doesn't like that idea at all, any more than the detective apparently likes him talking about Julia. Smiling a little, John folds the letter back up before tucking it safely away from the others and relaxing, turning on his side to look at the sketches of Sherlock's that he's kept up to remind him of London, those images being the last thing he sees before drifting off to sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>Well, Sherlock is either really hyped up on sugarcaffeine/nicotine, or... something bad. Either way he's a little worked up over everything and a wee bit hyper. And he doesn't even realize why, the poor dear. I hope you enjoy it!**

**Reviews/Comments welcome!**


	9. Chapter 9

After re-reading the letter that Sherlock sent him, John settles down to formulate a reply, shaking his head a little with quiet amusement as he thinks about the dark-haired, insane man. He has the feeling that Sherlock would have been on edge during the get-together at the pub in the first place, much less meeting new people - ones who aren't put off by him at least - and being forced to be civil with them. Between that and meeting new people, it's no wonder that Sherlock got a little paranoid. And yes, he admits, maybe he did talk about Julia a bit much in his last letter but he didn't have much else to talk about. So now, the doctor settles down to do damage control and hopefully settle down the younger man, even though he will get the letter weeks after he sent his.

~oOo~

Dear Sherlock,

You're right, I did talk a bit much about Julia, and maybe it was a bit odd that I mentioned her brother in the way that I did. Then again, it had been a slow week and I didn't have much else to talk about. Julia and I work together, we're stationed together, so I suppose I have a bit more interaction with her than others. If you want, I can give you more detailed accounts of other people I work with, like Dr. Martz, an older man who chain smokes and has absolutely zero bedside manner. But I have a feeling you don't want me to talk about him either.

I didn't really tell Julia about you, either. She noted that I was writing letters and it's an odd thing considering most people send emails and the like anymore. I explained that I met you through letters, one of those 'write to a soldier' deals, and we've been corresponding ever since. I told her you were a good friend of mine who I stayed with on leave during Christmas. Other than that, I didn't even give her your name, or any details about you. I'm not even sure anything I said was gender-specific. So stop being paranoid about that. I'm a private person, I don't want people crowding around me to hear what latest news I have whenever I get a letter from you. I prefer to read them in private. Or close to it, at least not with a lot of prying eyes about.

As for Lestrade's girlfriend, I think that you should maybe take a step back on that one and re-evaluate. Maybe she does have some secrets but everyone is entitled to those. You were under a lot of stress that night and you don't like socializing in general, so maybe you were a bit distracted. Or high strung from having to be there in the first place. If you can't deduce what it is, then I think it's probably not important. You get everything major and most minor things, but you can't see everything all the time. So just relax. Let it go and be grateful that you met someone who can put up with your shenanigans, I have a feeling there aren't many of us.

And I am not going to tell you Julia's last name, you don't need to know about her, she's not important. Just someone I work with. And you're right, she shouldn't have been lecturing me about smoking, but don't worry, I haven't picked up the habit again, I haven't had one since that one time I told you about it. I don't know what it was about that night, I just really, really felt like I had to have one. Bodies do some really weird stuff sometimes, especially when it gets tuned into our psyche.

You never told me about your last case. I told you, I'd like to hear about them. It kind of makes me feel a little bit grounded to hear some of what is going on in London, but also I like hearing about how you solve cases. It's completely fascinating. I only wish I was there to see it in person, it's much more impressive that way. But, we must take what we can get.

I wish I could tell you something that would help when you get frantic like that. It worries me a little, what you might do in that state. I just hope that if you get too worked up, you will just calm down. Take a deep breath and try and focus on one thing and force everything else to the background. You tend to get worked up when too many things are coming at you from too many different sides.

Tonight I feel homesick again. I've been looking at the sketches that you gave me, the ones that are hanging by my bunk, and I miss London. I had forgotten how much until I went back for Christmas. Maybe it's ridiculous, I went so long without seeing it, but being back there is like seeing an old friend again. No matter how long you're apart, you can fall into step easily again.

Well, I'm getting bloody poetic, aren't I? Must be the late hour, I just realized what time it is, so I should probably finish this up. I hope that you have settled things down a little or at least managed to satisfy your curiosity. And a belated Happy Valentine's Day, I totally missed it. Also, almost two years of sobriety, right? Congratulations on that, it's something to be proud of. Now if only I could get you to stop smoking. That would be the coup. But I can't exactly help you through that from here. I look forward to receiving your next letter, Sherlock.

Sincerely,

John

~oOo~

Reading the letter, and laying it down slowly on his desk, Sherlock does as he's bid and takes a slow, deep breath, imagining the older man frowning at him disapprovingly and glaring a little. As comical as that might be it also soothes Sherlock's nerves and allows him to smile a little at the letter. Yes, eh has been rather high strung over this whole girlfriend thing, not having found anything out about her, at least nothing out of the ordinary. And now he hears that this Julia woman is just someone John talked with out of convenience. Nothing more. So he's quite comfortable and relieved. Gently, he folds the paper up and tucks it with his others, smiling a little as he brushes his fingers over the paper. Yes, he's a very tactile person, and he loves the feel of them, glad of this form of communication rather than impersonal emails. You can tell so much more by a person's handwriting. Later, he would think of some way to help with John's homesickness, but for now he drags himself off to bed after being up for nearly three days straight, flopping down on his bed and barely kicking off his shoes before he's unconscious.

* * *

><p><strong>Sometimes I think Sherlock just needs a hug. And John should just hang onto him for a little while until he relaxes. But alas, that cannot happen. And I am not saying anything about these two women. :) You'll just have to read and see! Glad you are enjoying so far, sorry this took me a few days to load up.<strong>

**Reviews/Comments welcome!**


	10. Chapter 10

Still having no success with a solution for John's homesickness, Sherlock is frustrated by that, the lack of cases, and the way that he was treated by Donovan on the last case he worked with Lestrade. He has thought about approaching Lestrade about becoming a certified consultant, but that would mean he was at the department's beck and call, and he doesn't want to be that, despite how much he bugs the DI for cases. Pacing around his flat, he shuffles through newspapers before spotting something and then sitting down at his desk to pull out paper, having finally thought of something to write to John about, even if it won't help with the older man's homesickness.

~oOo~

Dear John,

I understand your homesickness and your restlessness. I am feeling a bit of the latter at the moment. There hasn't been a case for an age, though I have started assembling a website. The last case was not spectacular, hardly challenging, and I believe Donovan is out for blood. She made some comments about my state of mind which I will not repeat for fear of spreading her stupidity. I disputed the idiocy and reminded her that she shouldn't make comments about things she has no knowledge of. She would have taken a swing at me, if Lestrade hadn't arrived just then. That would have ended badly for her.

My experiments have been thusfar unsatisfactory in their results, and far less complex than I originally envisioned them to be. Given the results I got, the secondary experiments were no longer viable. Which has let me at some loose ends. I am considering taking up a passtime I have not dallied in since university.

There were many things that I experimented in during that time, some of which you know as it led to our current relationship. Others you may guess at, but there was a particular case, well, not a case per se as it wasn't official, but I still managed to slip the police enough information for them to catch the killer. However, the research that I needed to do for it required that I observe and learn about boxing. Very educational, also gave me one more thing to pull on should I ever find myself in a situation in which I need to defend myself. I dabbled in other martial arts, as well as meditation which led to my ability to expand my mind palace to something more extensive than I was able to achieve before.

The aggravation and boredom I am experiencing is unacceptable. I did discover during my dabbling that physical activity provided momentary relief from stresses I may have been experiencing at the time. Being distracted from the task at hand is something that often ends in pain when in a boxing ring. It has been a few years since I have taken up any such activity, at the very least it seems wise that I should brush up on those skills. My mind is sharp, I can recall things in an instant if I need to, but that is because I train it. It is a muscle, a skill like anything else. Most people don't even attempt to use what little brainpower they have, they merely let it rot. The same philosophy can be applied to physical pursuits, as you well know. Fitness is drilled rather strictly into the military I understand. Leading you to be in rather good shape despite the fact that you are a doctor and not exactly on the front lines.

I will keep you apprised of my progress in finding a suitable place, it should keep me diverted for a few days, depending on what else comes up. It's not likely something I will pursue for an extended period of time.

As to your worries, you should perhaps focus on your task at hand a little more. It has been almost two years since I proved myself able to live in society without the need for drugs, except for my continued addiction to cigarettes which you will be happy to know is slowly turning into a nicotine patch addiction. I appreciate that you worry about me, and it does not go unnoticed. Regardless, however, you should become accustomed to the way my mind works, the things that it seems, how something out of place can affect my perceptions. I still haven't found out what Lestrade's girlfriend is hiding.

There is little that I can do about your homesickness, besides to provide you with another sketch of the city that you seem to miss. Between the last paragraph and this one, inspiration hit for what I might be able to draw and I am including it with this letter. Perhaps it will make you feel more nostalgic, but I hope it will give you some relief and feeling as if you are here, seeing what I see as I walk the city streets.

The weather has been unseasonably warm here recently, almost all trace of snow has gone and it's been raining for almost two days straight. Perhaps that will give your rampant imagination something to conjure during your hot nights in the desert.

I imagine that your unit will make quite a ruckus during the upcoming St. Patrick's day. Try not to drink too much, I don't think your ego can stand writing another drunken, rambling letter. No doubt you will be treating many scrapes, bruises, and hangovers afterward. Good luck with that, John. I look forward to your next letter as well.

Sincerely,

Sherlock

~oOo~

For the life of him, John cannot imagine Sherlock Holmes in a boxing ring, considering how slim and lithe he is, though he does seem very agile. Still, it isn't something that meshes in John's mind. He bursts out into unexpected laughter when Sherlock mentions his nicotine patch addiction and after clamping a hand over his mouth he chuckles a little. If asked, he isn't sure if he could explain why that struck his funny bone the way it did, but just imagining the way the younger man would say it in a slightly annoyed, bored tone makes him grin. Only after he reads the letter does he put it aside and open yet another one of Sherlock's beautiful sketches. This time it's street view, seemingly at the edges of downtown somewhere. All the lights in the buildings are on, the view looking upwards toward the sky and the skyscrapers from the ground, rain coming down in sharp lines, the fogginess that the rain creates obscuring some of the buildings that are farther away. John shakes his head a little and smiles, "Beautiful.." he mumbles to himself as he looks at the picture and adds it to the others hanging up by his bunk. He's been given some compliments on them and some interested comments, but he gives very little detail about where he got them, just saying that a friend of his back in London is an excellent artist.

* * *

><p><strong>Started watching Sherlock again from the beginning, I cannot wait until Christmas! Given how he handles himself in the series, I can't help but think that Sherlock has SOME self-defense training, somehow. Plus, it's my little nod to the movies and books. :) Hope you guys enjoy this, I hope to have another one up soon!<strong>

**Reviews/Comments welcome!**


	11. Chapter 11

Drained and exhausted, John knows that he needs to write back to Sherlock, having had a bad week and not having had the energy to write to him, but today he decides that he is going to, before he settles down for some much deserved rest and a day off. Refreshing himself as to what Sherlock wrote in his letter, he smiles softly because now it's raining where John is. Pulling up his lap desk, he pulls out a piece of paper and sets the detective's letter to the side to reference since he is too tired to remember it, before he starts writing his reply. His handwriting isn't exactly as neat as it normally is, the spacing a bit off along with not being in a very straight line because of his fatigue,

~oOo~

Dear Sherlock,

I hope that you haven't hurt yourself too badly with the whole boxing thing. I worry that you don't realize you are giving people permission to take a swing at you. And given how people tend to react toward you, I wouldn't be surprised if it took very little convincing to get someone in the ring with you. Do take care of yourself, and if you need to, see a proper doctor. I don't want to hear that you're being stubborn when you have bruised ribs or a broken nose or something of the sort. Hopefully they stay away from that face, they could cut themselves on your cheekbones. Bloody cheekbones.

I'm sorry. I'm a little tired right now. It's been a long week, and we lost Dr. Martz that I told you about in the last letter, and another, younger soldier as well. The young woman got bitten by a poisonous snake. Which one we're still not quite sure of because we didn't see the snake. It was acting like a Krait bite, but that would be very uncommon where we are right now. She came back too late, we couldn't treat her in time. And Dr. Martz, he merely had a heart attack. The cigarettes finally caught up with him I guess. I thought that we had won, that we had stabilized him, but he took a turn for the worse during the night and he died. His body just couldn't handle the stresses. He was a good doctor, a good man. We always think of the dangers of getting shot or dealing with bombs out here. The things that we never think about are the dangers our own bodies pose to us, or our environment. There are dangerous animals out here that we need to be careful of. I guess I'm going to have to put something together to have them reminded of that.

It was hardest with the woman, though. She was a new recruit, probably not even 20 yet. I remember talking to her in the mess hall once, Ann I think her first name was. She really wanted to be a dancer, or a pediatrician, but she had hurt herself in school, lost her scholarships. She thought this was a good way to help her get some money together so that she could apply to a university. She only had a year left to go.

Dr. Martz has four children, all grown up, and two grandchildren with another on the way. He and his wife were married for thirty years. He was always so proud to show off those pictures of his children when they were young, and then all grown up with children of their own. Always spoke about his youngest, and how he was so smart, but different, didn't get along well with others, but that didn't keep Bobby - Dr. Martz - from loving him any less. Apparently all his other children were athletic and popular, but his youngest was the runt of the litter as it were. I kept telling him that he should stop smoking, that it was going to kill him one day, I just didn't realize it would be so soon. Or that I would be the one fighting to keep him alive.

Thank you for the sketch, it was beautiful as always. You have an amazing mind, to be able to conjure images that you've seen and translate them to paper like that. Just one more reason that your mind is amazing, Sherlock. It's raining here now, as well. Seems fitting, considering this morning they sent Ann and Bobby's bodies back to Britain. We haven't been told if there's going to be someone brought in to replace Dr. Martz or not.

Needless to say this has sort of dampened my mood as far as celebrating St. Patrick's day. I could definitely use a drink about now, but I'm too tired to go and find one, so I'm settling for a cup of tea - one of the types you gave me - and sleep. I have a day off tomorrow, so I intend to sleep my fill, I think I've been up for 36 hours or more. This has been hard on all of us - doctors and nurses - and I'm not sure how long it will take before we get back to running smoothly again.

I'm still worried about this whole boxing thing. It's not exactly a casual sport. Are you maybe thinking about different martial arts as well? If you liked meditation, maybe you should try Tai Chi. Though I don't think you would have the patience for that. It's supposed to be good for that sort of centering your mind, at least that's what I've heard. Again, your sort of manic energy might lend itself to something like boxing better, now that I think about it a little more. It would be interesting to see, though, I'm sure you could outwit them in the ring as much as you could outwit them out of it. I'm just concerned about you getting hurt, especially since concussions are quite common and they can pose a serious risk to you. Give me your word you will go to a doctor if you're not feeling right.

I've been meaning to ask this for a while now, but why do you and Donovan have such an antagonistic relationship? I understand Anderson a bit more, because that's professional, you're basically doing his job better than he is and making him look like a chump. No one likes that, and you do it with such ease, skill and flair, that it's almost natural for him to resent you for that. That explains Anderson, but not Donovan. She obviously hates you. Did something happen in the past? I mean, it almost seems like, well.. If I didn't know better, I would say she seems like a spurned lover, but that seems highly improbable, given your general disinterest in the fairer sex. From my small experience in observing you.

I think I just dozed off for a few minutes. And put a black line across the page. Blimey, I really am tired. I'd better stop and get some sleep. Take care of yourself, Sherlock, and I'll look forward to your next letter.

Sincerely,

John

~oOo~

While Sherlock considers the irony of the letter as he holds an ice pack to his cheek from where he got hit and got a bit of a bruise, but nothing that won't be ok in a few days. Still, he finds he's a little worried about John and the way the two deaths might affect him. He's a very empathic man, the detective has observed, and this isn't something that will be taken lightly by the doctor. The question about Donovan however has Sherlock frowning slightly which makes him wince and readjust his hold on the ice pack, sitting back in his chair to consider that question as he looks up at the sky and imagines the night as John must have been seeing it, listening to the rain coming down as he considers his reply.

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><p><strong>Sometimes things will just not leave you alone. And I thought of this not long after finishing the last chapter, so.. tadaa! Thank you for your wonderful responses to the last chapter, I'm glad you liked it! I hope you like this one as well!<strong>

**Reviews/Comments welcome!**


	12. Chapter 12

For once, Sherlock's reply is almost immediate, as he feels the situation warrants it, and he can't sleep. And he can't self-medicate because that would be an issue. So instead he puts the ice away and returns to his desk, looking up at the sky and the few stars that are visible in the city, considering what he should write. Sympathy is not something that comes easy to him so instead he goes for distraction, finally leaning forward to start writing in his - mostly - neat scrawl.

~oOo~

Dear John,

Death is rarely expected but comes to us all. Too quick to some, not quick enough to others. I hope that you will look at their life and not linger on their death. It sounds as if this Dr. Martz had a great deal to be proud of and lived a rather full life, while your Ann lived more than most if she had a potential dancing career before this. Death doesn't matter. Life matters, that's what I've found while investigating murders. It rarely matters how they died, except to give some insight into the mind of their killer. How they lived, something about that is usually what led them to their death. Perhaps it was a simple choice of turning right instead of left. Maybe they stayed in a bar too long, looked at a woman the wrong way. But all these things were their life, that is the important part.

I did find a place to resume boxing lessons. Memory serves and though my muscles are sore, the only contact my opponent managed to make with me was a blow to my face. He was insulted that I gave him a tip on his stance, though I simply can't imagine why. It was leaving his entire left side open, something that I took advantage of more than once. Apparently amateurs cannot have any good advice. I knocked him flat after he made contact, however, as that left him open. I may not be returning to that particular gym however, there doesn't seem to be anything that I can learn, after this particular lesson. If I can outwit my teacher that quickly, I imagine that the others will not be much better.

With the way you care so much about everything and everyone, it's no wonder that you make an excellent doctor. However, there is nothing you can do from your present location even if I were to be injured, nor could you ever know for sure if I did go to the doctor if I said I was going to. You are working yourself up for nothing. There is no logic in it. Stop worrying. I dislike repeating myself, but apparently in your current state of mind you need something to jog your memory. I am capable of taking care of myself and recognizing my body's specific needs. If I am in need of medical attention, I will seek it out, I do not need a caretaker to be hovering over my shoulder to make sure I don't get a paper cut.

As for Donovan, that is a rather complex story. I met her when I met Lestrade for the first time. Apparently my somewhat shaggy, unkempt appearance at the time was something that she found rather attractive. She made several attempts to catch my attention, however, I was not interested and she was engaged. I merely told her that I was not interested in relationship, much less one with a serial adulterer, and that perhaps she should spend a little more time on her police work and a little less time on her knees. You should have seen them at the time, John! The state of them, you would have been concerned for her joints.

Thinking back on it, I may have said that in earshot of several other officers. Shortly after her engagement ring disappeared, there was a period of mourning I assumed by the state of her clothing and makeup every morning. After that she became as venomous as a snake. Toward me at least. And still, without the distraction of her fiancé, her police work still did not improve. Now she's taken to the occasional sleepover with Anderson who, by the way, is a married man. It only happens when his wife is out of town it seems. Apparently he has some skill, though it's certainly not in police work, as he is able to keep his wife and Donovan happy, sexually speaking. Luckily it seems only to be physical, otherwise the squad might have to be subjected to them sneaking off during crime scenes, or whispering obscenities to each other in the corner. Both of which would be repulsive when considering them separately, but together is worse than any corpse I could ever imagine. It's enough to turn even my stomach.

Presumably, besides being a better forensic scientist than him, Anderson also dislikes me because I am able to tell when Donovan has spent the night with him. However, since I think he relies heavily on his wife - whose job undoubtedly pays more than his, given her frequent trips out of town - he cannot unleash his full hatred toward me, for fear that I might let slip to his wife what he does when she's away. What he fails to realize is that beyond getting him to shut up and stop his incessant, inane chattering, I have no desire or need to know about his personal life, nor would I interfere. He can do what he likes, but eventually he will have to face the consequences of his actions.

Either that or his wife's trips are really her visiting a lover of her own. Oh. Oh, that's very good. That would be clever. Anderson clearly never asks many questions when his wife is out of town because he is eager to be free to rendezvous with his lover. His wife would then be free to take as many trips as safely possible. Trips that are not for work at all but actually have her traveling to see a lover of her own. I've never met the woman so I have no basis for this observation. However, it would be an ironic twist.

John, you have infected me with your romantic wistfulness and sense of whimsy you seem to have. I should be focusing on the facts. The facts of the new case I'm working on especially. It's a particularly vicious double murder. I'm helping to consult with Scotland Yard on this one. Their main suspect is ridiculous, there is no way he could pull off such a feat. He was involved in some sort of criminal activity, but I haven't been able to find any proof. Another example of Scotland Yard's lazy ineptness. It is utterly frustrating at the moment, but I am confident that I will find the truth before Donovan ever figures out she has the wrong suspect.

There are, however, times when you can be surprisingly perceptive. You were correct in your guess about why Donovan dislikes me, though of course, it's ridiculous to think that I would have any sort of romantic relationship with that repulsive woman. Yet another time that you surprise me. You are a very deceptive man, John. Continually.

I should return to the case before the stupidity gets the better of Lestrade. I am glad that you get a relief from the heat, and that the rain helps. Sleep well, John.

Sincerely,

Sherlock

~oOo~

After reading what happened between Sherlock and Donovan, John isn't sure whether he should laugh, or be shocked. For a moment he has to stop reading as he tries to let that sink in. While he can certainly see why Donovan would gravitate toward Sherlock with his cheekbones, that soft hair and fair skin. Shaking his head before he gets too far into that little bit of fantasy land, looking back at the letter in front of him and focusing on reading the rest of the letter. He can't help but smile at the accusatory note in the words when Sherlock accuses him of 'infecting' him. It makes him chuckle a little, which is a welcome thing. He smiles a little again as he finishes up the letter, before something occurs to him and he checks the post date on the letter. That's the fastest that Sherlock has ever sent a letter back to him, if he had to guess, and that makes him smile a little more because it shows that in the end, Sherlock cares more about what happened and finding a way to make the doctor feel better, than he might have let on. Getting up, he decides to go for a walk, tucking the letter into one of his pockets and smiling a little. "Goodnight, Sherlock." He mumbles softly as he figures out what time it must be in London.

* * *

><p><strong>I feel like my letters are a lot longer than they were in the first part, I think it's because the boys know eachother better now than they did before so it's easier to write when you know a person and can relate to them a little bit more. Anyone guess what the case is? :) Hope you enjoy it!<strong>

**Reviews/Comments welcome!**


	13. Chapter 13

"You're always writing letters, it seems. Do you have a girlfriend?" Julia asks as she sees John pull out some paper to start writing his reply to Sherlock.

Laughing a little at the thought, while his ears turn a bit pink despite himself, John shakes his head. "No. No, I don't have a girlfriend." Which is a true enough statement, he muses. "It's my friend, back in London that I told you about. He's the only one that I have to write to. And I worry about him. He comes up with these bloody awful schemes sometimes, that I swear are just going to get the idiot into trouble." The doctor muses fondly with a small smile as he sits back in his chair and looks at the admittedly rather pretty nurse.

"Sounds like you're best mates." Julia says with a sweet smile, tilting her head to the side and twirling a bit of hair around her finger. "Shame, that you don't have a girlfriend, handsome bloke like you." She adds, her accent a bit rough and certainly not the smooth, refined way of talking that Sherlock has.

"Well. Been an Army man for too long, I suppose." John says, though his ears turn a bit more pink in embarrassment as he looks at the girl. Even if he does find her attractive, he knows enough not to get involved with anyone who works under his command. "You can go on, Julia. I'll finish up here, you worked a shift last night as well. Get some dinner, relax." He says dismissively before he turns slightly back toward his desk, his thoughts already turning back to the beautiful idiot back in London.

Pouting a little at the clear dismissal and the apparently failed attempt - again - at flirting, Julia sighs and nods a little. "Alright. Thank you, Doctor." She says a little more formally, sounding a little peeved as she turns and walks out of the tent.

With an inward groan, John shakes his head a little, wondering how much of a pain that this will be in the future. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned - the quote comes back to John, one of the few that he would remember from his university days. Shaking his head, he leans over the desk and finally tries to gather his thoughts and put pen to paper. 

~oOo~ 

Dear Sherlock, 

Thank you. I never would have expected it considering your utter lack of social skills, but a lot of times you seem to know just what to say to make me feel better. Your letter helped me a lot. We haven't gotten a replacement for Dr. Martz yet, and I have a feeling that they might be wanting me to take over for him. If they don't bring in anyone from the outside, I am the only one that has anywhere close to his level of experience. Even then, there's a pretty good gap.

I cannot believe you got yourself hurt, you bloody idiot. I knew you would. Insulting your instructor will do that. I swear, you're a handful, you seriously need someone to look after you. I hope at least that you're looking after yourself, tending to your wounds properly. And yes, I am glad that you're stopping smoking, even if you have to rely on the patches. At least with them you aren't putting the tar and all the other chemicals into your body.

Who would have thought that of all people Donovan would make a move on you, romantically. I can completely see you saying what you did, though I'm glad that you did. She sounds like an awful person, cheating on her fiancé`, and being the one to aid Anderson in his cheating. She does not sound like a good sort of person at all, I'm not even sure she should be a cop in that case, clearly her judgment is not the best. Still, please tell me that you are not going to investigate Anderson's wife. There's no need to and that's not the sort of thing you're usually interested in anyway. Just leave it alone, Sherlock.

How is your double murder case going? By the time you get this I bet you'll have solved it. I hope that if the man they accused did not do it, you were able to prove it. I'd hate to think that an innocent man is going to prison. Then again, with you on the case, there's no doubt that you'll find the right answer and the right man, or woman for that matter.

I think I am going to have a problem with Julia. She was in here before I started to write this. And by in here I mean in the medical tent. We have a few things to finish up, paperwork and such and the two patients we have in here are asleep. So I was going to write this letter, as I clearly am, and she commented on it. I think she was fishing for information, asked if I was writing my girlfriend. Which is a bit embarrassing considering our last conversation about that topic. Between us I mean. Anyway, she's a lower rank than I am and my nurse, so it wouldn't be a good idea for us to get involved in any case. She's a beautiful girl, don't get me wrong. And a few years ago, I would have been happy to do a little flirting at the very least. However, that being said, given our positions it's not a good idea. And that I'm still trying to figure out my other feelings, that we talked about.

After I told her that she could go early and get some dinner, she seemed a little unhappy. I hope that she can keep things professional, however, and do her duty, otherwise we might have further problems. And I really don't want to have to report this formally in order to get her transferred. That would not be good for anyone involved.

You know, given how much you don't like people in general, you seem to know a lot about the people around you. More than you let on. You know about Donovan and Anderson, you know about Lestrade and his girlfriend. Do you look for these things, or is it just something you see when you look at people? Can you even control that? It's not a mystery that I find your deductions fascinating. The way your mind works, I just cannot fathom it. I'm sure you'll make some snarky response about how of course I can't figure you out because your intellect is so much higher than mine, or something of the sort. And you're right. You are far smarter than I could ever hope to be. Anyone can see that. But your mind does work differently. You see things so easily that I don't see until you explain it to me. It fascinates me. You fascinate me. Still, after over two years of talking to you, of knowing you. You fascinate me.

I think the flu is starting to make its rounds. I've had half a dozen people this week with flu-like symptoms. Some worse than others. I've got one in the infirmary right now that was suffering from dehydration. In a camp like this, once a few people get it it tends to spread pretty fast. Dehydration is also a serious danger out here. Something that we always need to be aware of, and if you can't keep water down, combined with the heat and all else, well. That makes for a bloody dangerous situation. Speaking of, my patient just woke up, so I need to see if I can get some more liquids down his throat.

As always, please make sure that you're taking care of yourself, Sherlock. You know how I worry, and with good reason it seems. Let me know how the case went and anything else new that you're working on, I'd love to hear about it. 

Sincerely Yo

Always

Sincerely, 

John 

~oOo~ 

Frowning slightly after reading through the letter, Sherlock runs his fingers over the crossed out words at the bottom of the page. Usually John is very careful, there are very few mistakes or scribbled out areas. He always writes in pen, never uses whiteout. So the fact that he left the words, crossed out in a way that Sherlock could still tell what they were, speaks to his indecision. Why would John suddenly be indecisive about how to end a letter? This confuses the detective as much as his feelings about the news of Julia's flirting. He's not sure why that disturbs him so much. Likely something to do with the way that he feels about John in general. Though even that he is trying to figure out definitively. Sherlock keeps arguing with himself over it, when he has time to think about such things but usually he has better things to consider. Still, this disturbing news is something that causes him to retreat to his favorite laying down position on the couch to slip into his mind palace and attempt to contact that version of John once again to talk to him, and figure it out. 

* * *

><p><strong>Well, the formatting for the strike-out of the 'Sincerely Yo' and 'Always' is not coming through and I don't know how to fix it, so I left it as underlined, but it's supposed to have a line through it, like strike-out. Hope you guys enjoy this, even my little divergence from the norm there at the beginning.<strong>

**Reviews/Comments welcome!**


	14. Chapter 14

It was time. Sherlock knew that months ago he needed to figure out why the darkness was leeching into his mind - specifically his Mind Palace - and it was something that until now he had chosen to ignore for happier pursuits, easier pursuits. Now however, with Julia, Lestrade's girlfriend whose name he can't be bothered to remember, and his own feelings, he knows that something needs to be done. It's not something that he's necessarily looking forward to though. However, sometimes you need to shine the light onto the dark places so that they don't poison your future.

Standing next to his desk, Sherlock looks down at the intricately carved, wooden box in which he keeps all the letters from John. Reaching out, he runs his fingers along the edges of the box, opening it slowly to look inside before he closes it slowly. "I hope you will forgive me if this goes wrong, John." He says quietly before he closes the box again and walks over to the couch, rolling his sleeves up slowly before he lays down on the couch, taking a deep breath and getting into his 'prayer' position before he closes his eyes and sinks back into his Mind Palace.

This time he doesn't go to where he thinks John will be, he doesn't go to that room in case he loses his nerve once he sees his mental version of John in there. Not wanting to see how his mental version will have changed with the information from the recent letters he's received. He pauses outside the door though, reaching out to touch it, the texture of the door having shifted to something more like a heavy canvas, a paler color than it used to be. John is deployed again, and he knows it, so his mental version has shifted more toward the military.

His stop by that room is brief, instead he looks down the hallway, where the lights are flickering from lack of maintenance, casting shadows into the darkened hallway. Clasping his hands behind his back, Sherlock takes a slow, deep breath before he strides into the darkness with determination, pausing in front of the three darkened doors. On his right is a door which seems to be made of a red plastic. The window that is there has been boarded over, the door itself locked. No name is on the door, instead simply 'Classroom A' in a child's writing. This is where his investigation begins and the first thing that he needs to confront. His childhood, his first exposure to children other than Mycroft. Reaching out, the detective lifts the lock from where it lays against the door, producing a key from his pocket and reaching out to unlock the door, a small frown on his face as he unlocks it.

It could have been hours, it could have been days since Sherlock started his exploration of his mind, purging some demons, while others he merely remembers, and then lays them to rest, no longer letting them poison his mind, even if he cannot get rid of them. Finally, he comes out of it, opening his eyes slowly and taking a deep breath. There has been no one to check on him, no one to wonder why he didn't answer his phone or come out of his flat. If he didn't answer his phone, the caller probably just thought he was being his usual obstinate self.

Feeling the weight of all he discovered, all he confronted in his mind, the detective slowly stands up, scratching the inside of his arm as he feels a familiar itch, a familiar pull that he has not felt this strong in years. The temporary oblivion, that is what he wants now. Something to erase what he has just done.

After showering and eating, dressed in his pajamas, Sherlock returns to the desk where he writes to John, pulling out a piece of paper slowly, his energy drained for the day but he wants to write John a simple letter, though it will not do justice to anything that happened.

~oOo~

Dear John,

I've taken your advice. I explored my mind palace. I've gone to the dark places I have not visited for an age. The darkness that is creeping over the corners, I've shone light into it. Your light. I did not expect the consequences.

Forgive me, John. I may not be fit to write for some time. There is much to work through.

Sincerely Yours,

Sherlock

~oOo~

When John gets this letter, he immediately recognizes the very deliberately neat handwriting, as if Sherlock thought about every single word and every letter before he put it down. Once he reads it over, the panic sets in. He doesn't recall ever telling Sherlock to explore his mind palace or go to the darker places there, but the fact that he thinks he won't be fit to write scares him. He wonders what Sherlock might do with no one to look after him. The letter was sent days ago and it would be at least 24 hours before he can get access to a phone. He's not sure which would come first, Sherlock receiving a letter or the doctor being able to get time to make a call.

Trying to calm his breathing so that he doesn't hyperventilate with fear of what the stupid detective has done now, John grabs paper and makes a hasty reply that he rushes to the mail before he goes to see when he might be able to make a call. The fear for Sherlock clouds his mind, ever present at the corners as he tries to do his job, and he prays that he didn't do anything stupid.

* * *

><p><strong>Dun Dun Duunnn. Don't worry. It's not as bad as it sounds. Poor Sherlock just needs some sleep, and perhaps a shock blanket. Oh, and what he saw will be explained, but in - what else? - letters! Hope you all enjoyed this, glad you enjoyed the last. :)<strong>

**Reviews/Comments welcome!**


	15. Chapter 15

It's a day later before John gets time on the phone and he taps his foot a little impatiently as it rings, worried about Sherlock to say the least. It's to the point where his colleagues - especially Julia - were asking him if he was alright, and he had to make up excuses. He couldn't exactly tell them what really happened without explaining all about the madman that is Sherlock, and also his own relationship with the younger man. Which is still confusing.

"Sherlock Holmes." The ringing finally ends and the sweet sound John wanted to hear the most comes through the line. Apparently he didn't look at his caller ID. The fact that he sounds right as rain makes a different emotion bubble up in John and before he knows it, he's angry. Very angry.

"What the **HELL** were you thinking, Sherlock?!" John practically yells into the phone. "What the bloody hell were you talking about, me telling you to explore the dark parts of your mind palace? I told you nothing of the sort. And why in God's name would you send me a letter like that? I've been worried out of my bloody mind that you would do something monumentally stupid! I swear, if you have been the idiot you are, or if this was your idea of some sick, twisted joke, I am going to throttle you next time I see you." He threatens, not even bothering to tell the detective who he is. Several others in the tent are staring at him a bit now which makes him lower his voice and turn his back to them. He realizes that none of them would have ever heard him talk like that outside of an emergency in the medical tent and they seem a bit intimidated.

There is dead silence on the other side of the phone for a moment. "Hello, John." The calm voice of the detective finally comes across the line. "I'm sorry, for worrying you." He admits, actually sounding rather contrite. "I had been in my Mind Palace for quite some time when I wrote that letter, I did not realize how long until later that evening." He tries to explain, taking a deep breath. "It was not you who told me to explore the darker recesses of my Mind Palace, John, but the mental version of you that resides there. Think of it as the form my subconscious takes on in order to assist me."

Since Sherlock seem genuinely apologetic, John takes a few deep breaths and pinches the bridge of his nose as he squeezes his eyes shut. "Alright, that explains that. So why don't you explain the rest, please?" He asks with patience he does not necessarily feel.

"I explained to you how my Mind Palace works. There are places, unpleasant memories, traumatizing events, things that I wish to forget but cannot necessarily delete from my mind. Those things tend to appear as boarded up rooms or in some cases, they end up in the dungeons. There was a particular set of rooms, having to deal with a few people, which I had long since boarded up. They were dark memories for me, and that darkness, it was starting to creep over the edges of my mind, John. My mental version of you implied that I needed to confront those particular demons in order to..." Sherlock pauses, sounding a little reluctant, and making a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. "In order to more fully understand my relationship and feelings for you." He rushes through the statement, a frown audible in his tone. "So I opened the doors, one by one, confronted what was inside. Your friendship, and knowing you, helped me deal with those memories, John."

That is certainly a humbling thought, and John takes a moment to digest that. "And you're really ok?" He asks, his voice softer. "I was.. I mean.. your letter had me pretty scared, Sherlock." He admits, trying to keep his voice low enough to not be overheard much by those around them.

"Really, John." Sherlock says in an exasperated tone. "You are overly concerned with my well being. I believe I have, multiple times, said that I am quite capable of looking after myself. I do hate constantly repeating myself." He says with a note of annoyance in his tone.

"Well when one person cares about another, they worry about them, Sherlock." John says with a shake of his head, sighing a little. "And from what I saw, you are not capable of looking after yourself. Do I seriously need to remind you about the circumstances surrounding how we met, Sherlock? Honestly, that is not taking care of yourself well, obviously." He sighs a little, but his shoulders relax, and he rubs his forehead a little. "Just humor me. You're alright?" he repeats, wanting to hear the detective say it.

Sherlock sighs a little on the other end of the line, but somehow he sounds a little bit amused, if exasperated at the same time. "Yes. I am quite alright, John. I will explain more in my next letter. Clearly, I must be more careful about what I write." He hesitates for a moment before he adds, "It is good to hear you. Have they found a replacement for Dr. Martz?"

John just shakes his head a little, shifting his weight but glad to be on a subject that is easier for him. "No, they haven't found one yet. And there are more and more flu cases. It's starting to make its rounds. This seems to happen once a year, I think. Usually not this bad, though. I've got at least three soldiers in the medical tent who need supervision to make sure that they stay hydrated, or have especially high fevers. Speaking of that, I should be going and getting back to them.. It was good talking to you, Sherlock. Why don't you write me a proper letter this time, and explain everything that happened?" He asks hopefully, then adds. "Oh, you also may get a little letter from me, I wasn't sure which would be first, being able to call or sending you the letter." he admits with a slight bit of embarrassment.

"Yes, your patients seem to need you far more than I do. I'll write when I can. Be sure to take care of yourself." Even to Sherlock it sounds a little awkward but he can't help himself, he worries about the doctor as well, and that confuses him more than anything. "Goodbye, John." he finally says in a gentler tone before he hangs up the phone.

Not getting a chance to say goodbye, John hangs up the phone and he smiles a little, in a much better mood as he exits the tent and heads back to medical, humming to himself along the way. It seems odd to him that just talking to the detective puts him in a better mood and soothes his worries, even though he knows the man could be lying through his teeth. Still, it just enforces what he's started to believe, that he's got quite a crush on Sherlock, and he's not even a little worried about it.

~oOo~

Dear Sherlock,

You aren't making any sense. Please don't do anything rash, I don't know what I would do if you were hurt while I was here and not able to help you. I don't know what happened or what you're talking about, but please don't be an idiot. Use that amazing mind of yours and just explain to me what happened. Tell me, walk me through it. I want to know.

I'm going to try and call, I may have by the time you got this. There's nothing to forgive so long as you haven't been an idiot.

Yours,

John.

~oOo~

When Sherlock receives the letter a few days later his eyebrows go up for a moment, and he muses over the second sentence, reading it over and over again as he paces around his flat. He's still working through some of it, in so far as resisting what John would call a 'stupid' decision. Finally placing the letter down slowly on his desk and placing his fingertips on it so that it spreads out the paper, he nods slowly. He will do as John asks, because if there is one thing he learned during his self-exploration, it's that the doctor is not like those in his past. And he's not someone the detective has to fear.

* * *

><p><strong>A little diversion from the normal format, but don't worry, we'll be back to letters in the next chapter. Poor John is completely smitten, but I think Sherlock is coming around. Next chapter, I will reveal (mostly) what Sherlock went through in his own mind. :) Goodness, if anyone got a hold of these letters they could do some damage against Sherlock...<strong>

**Comments/Reviews welcome!**


	16. Chapter 16

With the possibility of a case looming over him, Sherlock knows that there's something more important to do first. He is very aware of how much John's friendship means to him, and he doesn't want to put that in danger. So the detective sits down at his desk and pulls out a piece of paper to attempt to describe in a letter what he saw in his Mind Palace. Not necessarily an easy task.

~oOo~

Dear John,

I promised on the phone that I would tell you what went on in my Mind Palace. It will be a difficult thing to describe. I've already described its setup to you. The first door that I entered was one from my childhood. Behind these doors can be many things, but behind these particular doors there were memories. For much of my childhood it was merely me and Mycroft, we had tutors come to teach us the basics, the first few years of our school life. For a long time, I thought that I really was an idiot, because Mycroft was indeed smarter than I was. But it was a lonely life and we did not have any other children to socialize with.

With the hope of socializing us, we were enrolled in school. It was an institution that supposedly catered to the upper crust. Even then I could deduce things though many of them I did not understand. I did not yet make the connection of slight stubble to an electric razor, the reason hairs on the trouser leg could mean a small dog, rather than a feline. I had not learned all of this, but certain things were very clear to me. And I did not understand that others didn't see the same thing. I'm sure you can imagine how my first attempts at socialization went. However, there were some who seemed to want to be friends with me, something that at the time, in my naiveté, I welcomed. We seemed to be close, I enjoyed their company. We would play games, or at least I would watch them play it but with that I was content. I would assist them with their homework and for a time I felt normal, I seemed to be like other children, albeit smarter of course, and less interested in some of the juvenile things that my comrades were interested in. But I suffered through it in the name of friendship.

When I was 10, I learned their true opinion of me as I came upon them when they were talking but did not realize I was there. They spoke their true feelings, about how they hated spending time with me, they thought that I was arrogant, foolish, and a git. However, they pretended to be my friend in order to get the leg up on their rivals, through the manipulation and use of my deductions. I was also useful for my obvious intelligence and help with their homework. I did not reveal myself that day, merely left to ponder their words and to try to understand the pain that it brought. I was never good with understanding emotions.

My so-called friends treated me warmly the next day and I thought perhaps I had imagined it. Until I mentioned something about one of them spending an unusual amount of time with one of the other boys, in a manner that could be perceived as romantic. Needless to say at that age it was not taken well, and the other boys started being somewhat cruel to him. As my punishment for causing harm upon one of their own, they lured me behind the school with the promise of some game, the particulars of which I do not remember, even as I watched all this in my Mind Palace once again. The end result is that I was beaten severely, and for the first time in my life, I was called 'freak'. It was a harsh lesson that no one could be trusted. To my young mind, it was traumatizing. No one had ever raised a hand against me before, and I didn't understand what I had done to deserve such treatment. It didn't stop there, I thought that afterwards, we could repair the friendship, I would learn what I had done wrong and make sure not to repeat that mistake. I was no longer welcome however, in their group of friends, and was met with harsh words and threats of further violence. I quickly became the school pariah.

Perhaps I had been too sheltered, my parents were not violent in any sense of the word, at the worst they could be considered negligent or merely indifferent. They barely reacted after I was beaten up, Mycroft was more worried than my father was, though my mother did dote on me a bit, but she didn't want me to become too reliant on her. They both thought it was a good lesson of how cruel the world was.

Later on, Mycroft explained to me that people were inherently idiots. He said that emotion led to this outcome, and if I wanted to keep myself from feeling such pain again, I would abandon it. Apparently he had learned this lesson before we entered any formal schooling. Knowing no other way, I did as my big brother told me. I turned back to science and reason. Something I already excelled at. I taught myself not to care what others thought. I trained myself to understand more of the deductions my mind was making. And when someone tried to approach me out of kindness, I rebuffed them with the truth. No matter how harsh. I did not mince words, did not care if I was considered mean. It was better to keep them away than to let anyone get close enough to me.

It seems a simple thing, perhaps not as traumatizing as you might have thought, but at the time it was devastating and the feelings of betrayal have never left me. When I decided to go to University, I buried all thoughts and feelings related to my school year so that perhaps I could begin anew, amongst peers who were obviously more intelligent because they attended a prestigious university.

The next two doors that I had banished to this particular wing, they both happened in university. I am not sure if I can tell you of one of them, it's not a proud time in my life and it's not something that I particularly want to put down on paper, but perhaps sometime I will tell you.

But the other had to do with my first attempts at romance. I had experimented with physical relationships. I am a rather attractive man, and different enough in appearance that I attracted attention. There were no feelings behind it, I merely wished to understand people, their motivations and continue to add to my database of deductions.

Then I met Him. Sebastian. It's enough that you know his first name, once again I will not put down any more details about him in writing. However, he was in my dorm in university and I would often see him in the lounge. After a time he chatted me up a bit, seemed genuinely interested in me, my experiments and my intelligence. Much like you, John. He was surprised and fascinated by my deductions. Sebastian had a way of worming himself past my defenses, and we started to spend more and more time together. He had knowledge of things that I had not considered before. Particularly drugs. Again, perhaps I was naive, but the way he described the effects of the drugs, I thought it might end up being beneficial to me and my mental processes.

Cocaine was his drug of choice and I tried it naturally. It was unlike anything that I had ever felt, it was an incredible rush, I could focus and had enormous energy to do the things that I loved most. My inhibitions were also lowered under the influence of the drugs, and Seb and I's relationship turned more physical. Consensual, but there were other things that he was into, and control was not something that I was ever going to give up. 'No' was not a word that Sebastian liked hearing when he was high. I fancied myself in love, however, so the first time, and second time he struck me, I accepted his apologies. Obviously such actions did not put me in an amorous mood, so I said 'no' more often. Sebastian was rarely sober by this point. It came to a head when I once again overheard him in the hallway talking about me with a very pretty brunette, saying that he couldn't stand being with me anymore, I was too cold. He said that he had only pursued the relationship with me for a bit of fun, it was never serious for him.

Then again, it was fun for me, and I rationalized that I could have fun as well. Later when I saw him with that same attractive brunette in a compromising position, I learned how dangerous emotions and attachments can be. I was high, and so angry that I attached Sebastian, and he ended up in the hospital. Some people would say that it was a wakeup call, but to me it was a challenge. If cocaine could make me lose control like that then I needed to find another way to get high. So I started experimenting with drugs, making my own mixtures until I found one that was more suitable to my personality, a combination of cocaine and heroin.

You know where that eventually led, and perhaps looking back on it I can see that it was appropriate for me to be in that prison that was disguised as a hospital. I have a clearer mind now and I am functioning with higher efficiency clearly. Sometime during my experimenting, I buried Sebastian in my mind and everything to do with him, locking it in another room that slowly leeched its darkness into my mind.

I observed all of these things as if they were happening for the first time, John. When I say that I locked them away, it was if they did not happen, I did not acknowledge them, I did not remember any portion of them. Now I forced myself to face them and it was, it is fresh in my mind. Seeing that all at once did take some time to process the results of it. Whether I am a better or worse man for it is perhaps up for debate. But it was something that I had to consider, that I had to face in order to move forward in my understanding of my current feelings.

Please do not feel pity for me, John. These things were far in my past and still not something that I intend on dwelling over. They are locked back up, but they will no longer poison my mind. I am able to move forward again. Now that I have recorded this, I hope you understand what sort of state of mind I was in when I sent that letter.

Now I have a very promising case that Lestrade is pestering me about, so I suppose I will head down to the crime scene, I have to drop this in the mail in any case. I look forward to your next letter.

Sincerely Yours,

Sherlock

~oOo~

With tears pricking at his eyes and a shocked expression on his face, John stares at the multi-page letter, reading it over quickly once more. Slowly, he puts a hand over his mouth as he lets one tear escape from the corner of his eye to slide over his cheekbone and disappear onto his hand. The things that Sherlock went through as a young man, it's no wonder that he turned out the way he did, with people treating him like that. Following quickly on the heels of his sadness is anger, boiling rage at this man who mistreated Sherlock the way he did. He suffered physical and emotional abuse - and for all he knows it extended to sexual abuse as well - all because he thought at the very least that he cared deeply for this Sebastian. He swears to himself that he will beat that man to within an inch of his life if he ever comes across him. Needing to get up and do something and having a few hours, John gets up and goes to the weight room, taping his hands up before he attacks one of the older punching bags, grunting a little at some of the hits. He needs this simple physical activity, to work up a sweat and work out his aggression before he even considers replying.

* * *

><p><strong>So, this ended up being a little darker than I expected. And to clarify, the comment about someone finding their letters was really meant as an off-hand comment, it was just a thought that came to mind. I wasn't actually planning on pursuing it, though I've thought about it now considering it got such a strong reaction. :) At least it will be something I keep in mind. Hehe. I hope you enjoyed this chapter and an explanation of what I think my version of this Sherlock went through.<strong>

**Reviews/Comments welcome!**


	17. Chapter 17

When John can finally consider writing the letter without feeling the need to punch something, he isn't even sure where to begin. There's so much that he wants to say, but he can't find the words at first that suitably express what he's feeling. It would be so much easier if he could say this to Sherlock's face, especially when he just wants to hug the man. Finally, he decides to just start writing and see what comes out, putting pen to paper in the semi-privacy of his bunk. As he writes, John shakes his head a little as he realizes how true the words are and how much he longs to return to London to deal with this mad, beautiful, genius of a man.

~oOo~

Dear Sherlock,

The way you were treated, it's no wonder that you turned out hating people as much as you do. When I finished your letter, I was so angry for you, at what you had gone through. I think I spent about two hours with a punching bag trying to work out that anger. And I swear, if I ever see that Sebastian fellow, I am going to beat the bloody hell out of him. He'll be lucky if he can ever walk again. Bloody bastard.

I wish there was somethign more I could say or do, but I feel so helpless. You were just a child, and to be treated so cruelly. I'd seen kids get picked on when I was young, of course, but I never saw anything to that extent. I was never one of the bullies, but I am ashamed to say I had several opportunities to step in and help someone weaker than myself and I didn't. That's something that I have to live with, but to see something like what you're talking about... I can't even conceive of it. Why didn't your parents do anything? If you were beaten so severely as a child, didn't they think that maybe that was a problem? Or did they just think that you should take care of it yourself? No wonder you hate your family. At least that's the impression I've gotten. And if you do hate them then you certainly have a good reason to.

But not everyone is like those people, Sherlock. And I'm glad that you certainly don't think that I am. I would rather have taken the beating for you if I could. Especially if it would have saved you that pain. I'm sure it wasn't easy to look at the days that got you into drugs, either. I hope that it isn't bringing up any triggers, and that you're staying well away from such things. When we talked I got the feeling that you were, but then I read your letter, and found out what you were facing.

It's just so frustrating, being this far away from you and not being able to help. Not to have been there while you were facing your demons so we could talk and I could help you through it. I know you could have hated it, you would have probably fought me tooth and nail about it, but we would have talked. And I could have made sure you didn't drive yourself into the ground with your work. I could have, I don't know, just been there for you. Prove to you that not everyone is like that.

It's odd, isn't it. The more we talk, the more we write, the less that I am content with my place. Before I started to write to you, I was happy with my lot in life, being a Captain, being a doctor out here, helping the people that need it. Now, if I was given the opportunity, the choice to stay here or to go home to London, I'm honestly not sure which one I would choose.

Hearing all of this, knowing that there's something else that you're not telling me, that you faced in your Mind Palace but you don't want to put down on paper, I hope you know that you can talk to me. I won't condemn you for your past. Whatever happened, it's in the past now and only your future matters to me.

I'm so tired lately. I've been working more trying to get this flu under control, and I'm afraid that I might be coming down with it myself. We really can't afford that, but there might be no getting around it. Between the stress, the slow but steady spread of this particular flu and trying to combat it. Seems I'm not taking my own advice. I should be taking better care of myself. I've been so worried about you lately that I've been neglecting my own care. That's a bit not good, isn't it?

Please write back soon. Even if it's not all good news, even if it's something like your last letter, I look forward to it much more than I should. I love knowing what's going on in your mind and in your life. I think I'm going to end this a bit quickly, though I probably could think of a bit more to say, but I think I should use this opportunity to get some rest, make sure that I don't wear myself out too much.

Tell me, what crazy adventures have you been up to? You said Lestrade wanted you on a case? Did you solve it? What was it about? You know I enjoy hearing about it, even if you leave out most of the details which I'm sure you think aren't important. And do take care of yourself, Sherlock. I'm looking forward to your next letter.

Always,

John

~oOo~

The fact that John felt anger over what happened to him so long ago makes Sherlock smile a little because it it such a John thing to do. His doctor is so empathic and feels so sympathetic, that it is not surprising he would feel that way. That he would be moved to so much anger that he had to resort to violence - even if it was just a punching bag - in order to relieve it, that is a bit more surprising. For a moment, the detective lets himself think about what it would have been like, had John been there to defend him in school, or been there for him to talk to in University. How much of his life would have changed? It would have been a better life, certainly. But then if that were true and if John still went off to the army, Sherlock would have felt the loss much more deeply. He does find himself thinking of John almost on a daily basis, checking his mail to see if there is a letter even if he thinks it's impractical, or thinking of how the doctor might react to this or that. The older man is certainly never far from Sherlock's mind. The attachment goes deep, the young man knows that even he may be lost to it. It may be too late to recover.

* * *

><p><strong>John is starting to get sick, even his letter is disconnected and shows how tired he's getting! Poor guy, it was bound to happen eventually, especially with the last letter and how it set him off. IN answer to some of you, I have thought possibly about making the Sebastian in Sherlock's past being Sebastian Wilkes from the show, but I haven't decided entirely. We'll have to see how I feel if I write that far. Though I would secretly be happy to let John beat the hell out of Sebastian Wilkes. I always thought that he deserved a good punch to the face. Meanwhile, maybe we'll find out a bit more about Julia in John's next letter. She's still around somewhere afterall. :) Hope you enjoyed this chapter!<strong>

**Reviews/Comments welcome!**


	18. Chapter 18

After he finishes with the case he was working on when he got John's letter, Sherlock can finally sit down for a reply. It's been almost two weeks since this one was very diverting, leading from just one murder to so much more and it helped bump Lestrade's career significantly. Not to mention it led to several interesting experiments for Sherlock that has kept the detective pleasantly diverted. But an addict is always an addict, and Sherlock eventually returns to the box of letters on his desk, pulling out the latest one from John to read over even though he's probably committed them all to memory. It's more of a tactile experience, to be able to touch the paper and see the doctor's emotions laid out in his handwriting. How fast he writes, how hard he presses the pen to the page, when he shifts positions to become more comfortable and when his writing slows as he feels fatigue take him over. Sherlock can read this all in the page, and while he can memorize the words, he always sees something new and something extra when he reads the letters over again. After a thorough once-over though, Sherlock neatly folds the letter and sets it back into the box with the others, neatly arranged by date received, before he turns to compose his own reply.

~oOo~

Dear John,

It's not surprising that you feel that way. It is who you are and your compassion is noted. But I do not need your pity. What's done is done, John, and it's in the past. Something that I will no longer allow to poison my future. You should put it out of your mind now, it's highly unlikely that I will ever see Sebastian again, so even less likely you would ever get a chance to exact revenge.

The latest case for Lestrade was quite intriguing. It started with what he thought was merely an unexplained murder, but it turned out to be a hit by the American Italian mob, of all things. Once we found that out, I did some research and took a trip to America in order to track down the connection to the mob. Needless to say I was appreciative to return home.

It would have been the perfect murder if the killer hadn't left boot prints, foreign soil and plant matter leading us to the fact that they were American, specifically the east coast. They were very careful, very good at their jobs. The victim was stabbed by a very common hunting knife, found in any sporting goods store. Nothing special about it. I could tell the victim was right handed, average height, average weight. No extra fibers on the scene, no DNA or finger prints left. No signs of vehicles. The only thing we had to go on was the boot print, which Anderson almost ruined by stepping on it, at least he would have if I hadn't made him stop first. Idiot. I believe the excessive rain we've had this spring contributed to being able to find it, the killer did not anticipate the different climates when coming from America.

Killers, they always make a mistake. Sometimes you just have to wait for it. In this case we didn't have to wait. Needless to say the Americans were quite pleased when Scotland Yard presented them with enough evidence to take down several key members of their mob. I could do without going to America again for a good long while. I normally don't mind traveling for a case, but there is something unpleasant about the areas of America I've been to.

Still, Lestrade was particularly pleased with my help on this case. Unfortunately it means another celebration and another event. Apparently since I behaved myself last time, I am again invited. Lestrade's girlfriend will be there again. It's bothering me. This will be a good opportunity to get close to her again to try and figure out what I missed. Perhaps I will be sharper this time, certainly I will stay away from alcohol, I need a clear mind. I must figure out what it is that is so off about her. She's hiding something, and I will find out what it is.

Perhaps you should care less about my welfare and more about your own if you're starting to feel under the weather, John. Especially if the flu is still going around the base. They can hardly afford to have someone of your skill down sick. Just make sure you aren't vulnerable around that Julia woman, I don't trust her.

I've been following the news and it seems that things are not getting any better. I hope you are careful, and good luck. It seems the people you are with may need it and I am afraid you will see more bloodshed before you are able to return home. Speaking of that very thing, I am wondering when you might get your next chance to return.

The weather is starting to get much warmer here, I imagine you're getting even worse weather with being where you are. Summers here are nothing to a summer in the desert. If there is anything you need, you can feel free to ask, I don't know what else I can possibly offer from this distance. Take care, John.

Sincerely Yours,

Sherlock

~oOo~

By the time he gets the letter, John is well and truly sick with the flu, having been bedridden for 48 hours already and he knows that he needs to get better soon. At least he's not as bad as some others, he's able to keep liquids down, and he can advise the nurses and the other doctor when they come and ask him or call him on the radio for advice. He can't help but smirk at the comment about Julia, since the woman has been quite nice to him during his sickness, making sure he gets three meals a day and the medicine that he needs, though he's concerned since he should be feeling at least a little bit better by now.

"Another letter?" The woman herself asks as if summoned when she comes into the tent with a bottle of juice for the good doctor. Julia tilts her head a little. "Is everything alright back home?" She asks pleasantly with a sweet smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.

Looking up, John quickly folds the letter and he nods quietly. "Yes, it's alright. Apparently rainy but warm." He says with a chuckle that turns into coughs, sitting up a little to help himself breathe. "Thank you, Julia. But you should return to your duties. I know how to look after myself, there are others in the infirmary that need closer attentions." He says firmly, not wanting to give the woman the wrong idea.

For a moment Julia looks frustrated, and she watches him. "Why won't you let me help, Dr. Watson? You always keep everyone away, you said you have nothing waiting for you back at home. I don't understand." Apparently she views herself as either much more attractive than she is, or she figures with there being a limited selection, she should be a hot commodity. Whatever it is, she seems very displeased by John's disinterest.

"I do have something waiting for me in London, Julia. I'm still trying to figure it out. Either way, it's none of your business. Please, return to the infirmary, I'd like to rest." John says firmly as he looks at the younger woman. Things are starting to become uncomfortable and he's going to have to speak to the Major about it.

"Fine. Here's your stupid juice." Julia says as she practically slams it on his end table before she turns and practically stomps out of the tent in a sulk.

"Bloody hell." John mutters as he sees that display, but then he picks up the bottle of juice to look at it since there's a drop of juice that is rolling down the side. After checking the seal of the cap and finding it hasn't been opened, he squeezes it a little, eyebrows going up as he discovers there seems to be a pin hole in the cap, the place where it would be least noticeable. "Blimey. This is not good." He says before he coughs a little again, struggling to sit up and put his feet on the ground, needing to get up and tell someone. He doesn't trust anyone with the message. "Where is Sherlock Holmes when you need him." He says with a sense of ironic amusement, pushing himself to his feet to stumble unsteadily toward the Major's tent.

* * *

><p><strong>Annndd.. we all knew Julia was bad news! Either that or she's just a patsy. You'll just have to read more to find out for sure! :) But if someone was poisoning John, maybe it's not the flu that's going around, maybe someone is trying to poison or weaken the entire camp. Or it could just be John. Depends on who is behind it. :) I hope you all enjoyed this!<strong>

**Comments/Reviews welcome!**


	19. Chapter 19

"You think it's been poisoned?" Major Sholto asks as he takes the orange juice from John and tips it upside down to watch the small, slow drip of it out of the pinprick hole, eyebrows going up as if he didn't quite believe it. Then again, even though the Captain before him is standing at attention, it's clear he is not well.

"Yes, sir." John says formally, trying to stay upright when all he feels like doing is collapsing. "That's what I'm afraid of, at least. I think it should be tested, if nothing else, and the rest of the supplies should be checked thoroughly. The only problem is that while one of my nurses supplied me with that, I don't think she would be - if you'll forgive me - clever enough to do something like that. Which means this bout of flu that has been going through the camp may be more than just a flu, sir." He says thoughtfully, something he was thinking about on his way over to the Major's tent.

Nodding a little as he turns the bottle back upright, Sholto nods. "For God's sake, Captain, at ease before you fall down. Have a seat." He says as he pours a glass of water and brings it over to the other man. "If we don't know who did this for sure, then we're going to have trouble accurately checking the stores." He observes as he sits down behind his makeshift desk.

John sits down gratefully, taking a deep breath and leaning on his knees for a moment before he takes the water. "Thank you, sir." he says politely as he takes a drink of the water. "I'd say we should have teams of two check the supplies. Each person must sign off that a certain batch has not been tampered with. I don't think a group of people would have gotten away with doing something like this, they couldn't do too much at once or it would be noticed, or the juice has a higher chance of going bad. I'm also going to need to take blood samples from everyone currently infected with the flu. I made an assumption before based on symptoms, but now.." he trails off, bothered by the idea that someone could be using some sort of poison that presents flu-like symptoms.

"Now you don't know if it's poison or if it's really the flu." Sholto finishes the sentence with a small nod. "If we find this is the only bottle that's been tampered with, then she will face the full force of the law. Either way we'll need to take her into custody, just in case. If we find more bottles, and proof that it's someone other than her, so be it, she can be released with no further harm." He decides as he sits back in his chair. "Do you have any idea where to start in finding our culprit?"

John shifts a little at that question and he sighs a little as he sits back in his chair, stalling to by taking another drink of his water. "I might, sir. It will probably be our best bet, but I don't think you're going to like it." He says cautiously, before he takes a deep breath as he thinks about Sherlock causing havoc here, scrubbing one hand over his clammy face.

Watching his Captain - and his friend - closely for a few moments, Sholto nods quietly with a small smile. "I understand. I trust you, Watson. What do you need?" He asks, already starting to write out orders about checking the supplies.

"I need to make a phone call on a secure line, sir." John says, a little uneasily as he considers what he's about to do. It's probably stupid and the higher ups will probably bust him down a few ranks for it, but it is the only solution he can think of.

Raising an eyebrow at John for a few moments, Sholto finally nods. "Done."

~oOo~

Sherlock is standing at the window of his flat, playing his violin - composing actually - when he sees the rather conspicuous black sedan pull up in front of his building. He always tries to get a flat with a street-facing window for exactly this reason. Frowning a little as he sees his brother - umbrella and all - get out of the car, he stops his playing with a screech, putting the violin down to clean off his bow a little as he waits for his brother.

When the knock comes at the door, Sherlock glares over at it in annoyance. "Come in, Mycroft." He bites out, his brother's name coming out as if he tasted something bad as he speaks the word.

Stepping into the room with self-assured grace, Mycroft closes the door behind him. "Sherlock, you really should learn not to ignore your phone." He says as he looks around the flat slowly and takes stock of everything. With the umbrella resting lightly on the floor, and a white envelope in the other with his own handwriting on the front, Mycroft finally turns his attention back to his brother. "I've been informed that there is a case you might be interested in. It would require a bit of travel, and I know you've just gotten back from America.." He says slowly as he looks down at the envelope in his hand, seeming to be considering not giving it to Sherlock.

Although he was going to say no, the way Mycroft seems to be changing his mind has Sherlock intrigued, so he puts down his bow and strides over. "Oh, just give it to me." He says as he snatches it from Mycroft's hand, opening up the letter within.

~oOo~

Sherlock,

You made me send this through Mycroft. Next time answer your bloody phone. I need your help. Some of our supplies have been compromised. Needles through the packaging. Since we don't know who could have done it, Major Sholto asked if I had anyone in mind that could help. I thought of you. Want to come to a desert in a war zone and help me solve a mystery? Might be dangerous. Mycroft can make the arrangements if you say yes. And if you say no, just know that next time I see you I am going to kick your scrawny arse.

Captain John H. Watson, M.D.

~oOo~

It wasn't the type of warm, affectionate letter that Sherlock is used to getting from John, but then again, no doubt half a dozen people saw this letter before it reached him. It is intriguing however, even if John were not involved, but when combined with the fact that his doctor is in danger, there really isn't any question.

"Well then, when do I leave?" Sherlock asks as he goes to start packing up his violin into its case to make sure it's protected while he's gone, going to get the detective kit that John got him for Christmas.

Mycroft's eyebrows go up and then he looks amused - if you look closely - for a few moments, adjusting the cuffs on his jacket before he looks up at his little brother with bored expression. "Now." he says simply. "I've taken the liberty of acquiring more appropriate clothes for you. You can hardly dress like that in the middle of a desert, even you would get warm, not to mention you would become a target rather quickly." he says before he turns a little toward the door. "Interesting, your relationship with this soldier fellow. I've never seen you so quick to go running when someone calls." He can't resist putting that little jibe in there as he heads for the door.

While it does bother him - the jibe - Sherlock can't seem to care right at the moment. He's going to see John, and he's going to see where the man spends his time. Not to mention he's going to be able to set his eyes on this Julia woman, and hopefully show her what an ant she is compared to the detective. With that thought lightening his step a little, he swings on his coat against the drizzle outside. He doesn't even care that Mycroft took such liberties with his clothes, the idea of seeing John again has him in a cloud.

Once in the car, Mycroft holds out a manila envelope of paper to Sherlock casually. "Standard paperwork for going to a classified position. You will be charged with treason, should it be discovered that you leaked their location. I've already looked it over, it's all quite standard.

Since the envelope and the papers within seem standard military issue and a quick perusal of them confirms that, Sherlock nods and pulls a pen from his pocket to sign the papers before he hands them back to his brother. "How exactly did you get this.. invitation?" He finally asks as he looks down at the envelope with John's letter in it, wanting to add it to his collection. He took it by mistake actually, he meant to leave it with the others, but he slides it into the inside of his jacket to be dealt with later.

"It seems that Captain Watson tried calling your phone, but when there was no response, his commanding officer, a Major Sholto, used a few of his connections to send it to my office. Afterall, my name was all that your friend had, and he knew I worked in the government. He's rather resourceful, that doctor." he says as he considers it for a few moments, glancing at Sherlock while brushing some imaginary dust off one of his pant legs.

Turning his head toward the window to conceal the smile on his face, Sherlock makes a hum of agreement. "Yes, he is. Don't underestimate him, Mycroft. He's sharper than your standard idiot on the street. Still an idiot, but surprising nonetheless." He says, staring at the buildings that flash by as they head - presumably - toward the airport.

Mycroft doesn't say anything, he just watches Sherlock for a few moments, only looking away when he gets a phone call and he starts to talk to the person on the other end about something or other, at least until they pull onto the tarmac of a private airport where a plane is waiting.

After getting out of the car, Sherlock looks at the plane, then at Mycroft. "A private plane, Mycroft? I'm surprised." He says as he starts to walk toward it. "You've certainly spared no expense."

A little exasperated with his brother, Mycroft follows at a sedate pace. "This seems to be a matter of national security, Sherlock. Either someone has infiltrated part of our military in order to take them out from the inside, or at least weaken them for slaughter, or there is a serial killer among them, at the very least a psychopath. I am merely doing what is best for England, Sherlock. As I always do." He says casually, stopping at the foot of the stairs leading up to the plane. "You'll find suitable clothes inside, the flight will take you to a military base where you'll board a helicopter to take you the rest of the way. Don't bother asking me where either location is, they're both classified. And if you can't figure it out when you land, I'll be quite disappointed." He says before he turns to walk back to the car. "Do try and stay out of trouble while you're there. Remember that everyone there has access to guns, and Dr. Watson will not be of much assistance to you."

Sherlock just snorts a little as he looks over at his brother. "Yes, you run the government to make sure we do what is best for England." He says with the usual bite behind his words before he heads up the stairs. "Well, we wouldn't want to inconvenience you by me getting shot. What an embarrassment that would be." He says sarcastically before his voice drops to a flatter, even tone. "Goodbye, Mycroft." Before he steps into the plane, spotting the bag with his clothes as he settles down into one of the chairs, strapping in.

Only when they're at cruising altitude and he is able to move around the cabin does the detective get up and change into his clothes which consist of a khaki pair of trousers, and a lighter colored tan button-up shirt made of a lighter, breathable material. There's also boots more suitable for walking in sand, and a sand-colored loop of fabric which will serve well as a loose scarf, but can also be converted to cover his head or his face. Everything fits perfectly of course, and Sherlock packs away his clothes into the same canvas duffel he got the clothes out of, making sure other things such as his cellphone and kit are safe, before he settles down into his seat, staring out at the clouds and smiling at the thought of getting to see his doctor.

* * *

><p><strong>I couldn't keep you waiting for long. I hope you like this and the small diversion it will be taking. :) I thought it would be good to tie a few things up and include a few more. Hope you like it!<strong>

**Reviews/comments welcome!**


	20. Chapter 20

After the flight out there and a transfer to the helicopter, Sherlock looks out the window and observes the base as they circle it and then finally land. For once he's behaving himself and is waiting until given the all clear before he starts to unbuckle himself and grabs his duffel as he gets out of the chopper, heading in the direction that his escort is leading him. When he's finally able to see and straighten up a little, he runs a hand through his hair to smooth it down, scanning the area until he sees John.

While he's still not feeling 100%, John is feeling better than when they tried to contact Sherlock originally, well enough that he can assist with the arrangements to get Sherlock there. He's also there to greet the man, in his fatigues, though his outer shirt is open over his light tan t-shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Although it's not exactly what he wants to do when he sees the detective approach, the doctor just nods stiffly. "Sherlock. Thanks for coming." He says as he offers his hand to the younger man.

Arching an eyebrow but apparently understanding the attitude, Sherlock clasps John's hand and shakes it firmly. "Of course. I could hardly pass over the opportunity to see what you write about so often." he says as he looks around. "I hear you have a mystery on your hands." He says before he looks back at John, glancing him over slowly. "Presumably you don't want to speak about it here." he notes as he glances around with keen eyes.

Nodding a little as he looks at the taller man, taking in his change of appearance and appreciating it for a moment, John smiles. "No, I'll take you to meet my commander, Major Sholto." He offers as he looks at Sherlock, then turns and starts to lead him through the camp. "You look well." he says in an attempt at being casual, "Mycroft got my message to you rather quickly, I'm a bit surprised by that."

"Yes, he was rather impressed with your resourcefulness." Sherlock says as he follows the smaller man. "You do not look well. It seems you succumbed to the flu afterall." He says in a slightly disapproving tone. "Any details you can give me?" He asks as he looks at people as they pass them, taking everything in.

John sighs a little and he nods. "How familiar are you with different poisons, Sherlock?" He asks as he glances back at the taller man, "Julia was actually the one that revealed everything, when she had a bit of a fit." He shrugs one shoulder for a moment before he turns and steps inside one of the tents, holding the flap aside for Sherlock to step inside, before he approaches the desk, standing at attention and snapping off a salute. "Major Sholto, this is the man I spoke to you about, Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock, this is Major James Sholto." He introduces, glancing sideways at Sherlock, slightly nervous for a moment.

Considering the question and trying not to get snappish because of the mention of Julia. "I'm well versed in many different types of poisons, John." He says before he ducks into the tent, and offers his hand to Sholto. "Nice to meet you, Major. I hear you have a bit of a problem. Care to fill me in?" he asks as he looks between the two for a moment, arching an eyebrow at John, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Sholto nods and shakes Sherlock's hand firmly before he says, "Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Holmes. I've heard great things about your abilities, though I have to admit I expected something.. different." He says as he looks over the younger man, before he takes a deep breath. "Some of our supplies have, presumably, been poisoned. At least they've been tampered with. Mostly the juices, bottles of water, drinks mostly. Watson suggested that it was because the poison was in liquid form and less likely to be discovered in a liquid. Only a small percentage of the supplies have been tampered with, but we are no closer to discovering who it might be." He explains, clasping his hands behind his back.

Sherlock glances at John again before he nods quietly. "While John does tend to exaggerate, I have no doubt he was accurate in regard to my abilities. I can give you an example if you wish." He offers as he looks at the Major, then he frowns a little. "I'll need equipment in order to determine what kind of poison, I'll need to see some of the things that were tampered with, the ones that were not altered since you found them." He says before he glances around. "And I'll need somewhere to work where I won't be interrupted, as well as free reign of your base, to speak to whatever personnel I deem necessary." he says as he considers everything. "If you could spare John - Captain Watson that is, his assistance in guiding me around your base and the personnel therein would be invaluable to me in this situation." he explains as he looks straight at Sholto. Yeah, maybe he also wants to spend some more time with John, but he would also rather choose his guide. He hardly expect the Major to let him have free reign without some sort of bodyguard or guide.

Sholto glances between the few moments, noticing that John has not reacted to this request at all besides a brief glance in the detective's direction. "Very well. Barring anything that will need John's medical attention, this takes first priority, I need to find whoever is trying to weaken or kill my men." He says as he looks back at Sherlock. "Find them, and bring them to me."

"And if it turns out you are one of the conspirators, Major, who shall I bring it to, then?" Sherlock asks bluntly as he looks at the man, narrowing his eyes for a few moments as he looks him over and makes his deductions.

"Sherlock." John says in a warning tone as he looks over at the detective, hands balling into fists at his sides in his anxiety, before he looks back at Sholto, trying to gauge his reaction though he worries that Sherlock will have upset the man. He's only been here for a few minutes afterall.

Watching the detective for a few moments, Sholto glances at John. "It's alright, Captain. It's a good question. If you find that the evidence leads you to me, I am sure that Watson can provide you with the name of my commanding officer." He says as he watches the younger man. "I'm glad to see that you will be taking a serious and unbiased approach to this, Mr. Holmes." He says before he nods a little to John. "Top priority."

Relaxing a little, John sighs and then nods a little. "Sir." He says before he turns to Sherlock. "I'll show you to a place where you can work, I took the liberty of working it up a bit, got what I think you'll need." he says before he walks to hold the tent flap open for Sherlock again.

With a small nod to Sholto, Sherlock turns to follow John, ducking out of the tent and looking around, squinting a bit at the bright sunshine, glancing up at the sky for a moment. "I'm sure that you missed a few things." he says before he follows the doctor toward the tent that is on the outskirts a little. Once they're inside that tent, he relaxes a little, taking a deep breath. "So that is your commander, Major Sholto. You've never mentioned him before." He says almost accusingly as he goes over to the desk and looks at the microscope provided there, along with the slides, glancing around before he opens a cooler and nods as he sees the juice inside, sitting down and pushes his sleeves up to make use of his equipment to start taking samples from various bottles, dumping out a few others to examine the bottles themselves.

Standing just inside the tent and admiring the way the younger man immediately gets to work, John smiles a little. "I never thought to mention him, honestly. He's my commanding officer, there's not really much to say about him. Though he is a good man, I can't imagine him condoning any of this." He points out as he motions around for a few moments.

"Perhaps not, but have you isolated or questioned this Julia woman? Presumably she brought you one of these tainted bottles and that is how you found this out. Quite by accident, which means that she may have a greater plan, or she may have been trying to poison you, John." Sherlock says with perhaps a hint of jealously as he glances sideways at John again without moving his head as he puts one of his new samples under the microscope and adjusts some of the knobs.

Rolling his eyes for a moment at the detective's obvious jealousy and fixation on Julia, John shakes his head and chuckles. "If she was just trying to poison me, there wouldn't be side a wide range of things poisoned." He points out as he watches Sherlock. "It would have been just my bottle." Then he holds up his hands in defense as he can see Sherlock forming an argument already. "Now, I'm not saying she's not involved, I'm just saying that there is bound to be more to it than merely targeting me." he says in a firm tone, looking around for a few moments and trying not to stare at the detective. He can't help himself though, especially in the different clothes which somehow make him seem even more appealing and sexy. Or perhaps it has been his own revelations in recent months, combined with not having seen him for a while. It could be either, but whatever the reason, eh can't take his eyes off the younger man as he watches him work, finally taking a few steps closer, drawn in like a moth to a flame.

Lifting his head from the microscope to look at John and object to what seems to be the doctor's defense of this Julia woman, Sherlock closes his mouth again when he goes on, considering it for a few moments. "Excellent deduction, John. Quite right." He says with a nod of his head, not wanting to admit that he had let his jealousy get the better of him for a few moments. He is more than aware of the doctor's eyes on him, but he makes no move to say or do anything about it. In his own way, he missed John as well, even if he might not be as expressive of it, and he does find this case very interesting, so it's sort of the best of both worlds. An excellent case and being able to be in John's presence. "It could be that it was no one on this base. How easy would it be for someone to sneak onto the base, and get into your stores like this? Taking into account that tampering with this many bottles would take some time."

"Not that easy, there are always sentries on the perimeter, not to mention electronic fences and surveillance." John says as he thinks about it. "Plus we're fairly far from any sort of civilization, we would see anyone approaching before they got close. I think it would have had to be someone on the base. Which is a bit disconcerting. Who would want to do this?" He asks as he looks around for a moment, then sighs as he moves to stand behind and a few paces to the side of the detective, crossing his arms over his chest.

"That is what I am here to find out, John." Sherlock reassures, lifting his head to look over at the soldier. "You're different here than you were in London." He explains, motioning to him vaguely. "More disciplined obviously. Your mind seems clearer, you're more confident and direct." he says as he tries to define the differences between the soldier, the man, and the doctor. "This is excellent, John. A case like this could be quite difficult, we have almost no evidence so far." He says in a pleased tone with a small smile. "Once we find out what kind of poison this is we will have a much clearer picture of what the saboteur was trying to accomplish." He says confidently as he turns back to the microscope, hesitating before he removes the scarf from around his neck and places it to the side, scratching his head a little. "I hate sand." he mutters to himself.

Smiling a little and nodding quietly, John watches Sherlock with amusement. "Now you know why I keep my hair short, besides it being regulation. Most of the women on base keep their hair short as well, because the sand gets everywhere. You can't avoid it, it comes up with the wind." He says with amusement, not being able to help himself as he steps over and buries his fingers in Sherlock's hair, pulling it a little to the side under the pretense to see if there's really any sand in it or not, his hand sliding out slowly. "A bit of a wash will take this out, must have gotten it while you were walking away from the chopper." he says as he considers it, then smiles a little again, sliding his hand down to rest on the back of Sherlock's neck for a moment. "It's good to see you again, Sherlock." he says softly with a small smile before he drops his hand away and takes a step back from the detective.

For a moment Sherlock closes his eyes as he enjoys the touch, always surprised when he feels that sort of reaction, not having ever really enjoyed anyone's touch in a very long time. He doesn't move his head away from the microscope though, trying to hide his reaction from John, not wanting to push the older man or make things uncomfortable here for him. "And you as well, John. You should probably sit down, seeing as you're still recovering from the flu, or perhaps from this poison, depending on what it was, though I think it more likely that they used the flu as a cover for their poisoning." Sherlock says thoughtfully as he adjusts some knobs and then puts the slide aside and picks up another one with a different sample, going through the same process.

"Yes, I was in rather bad shape when this whole thing began." John says but he seems content with Sherlock's lack of response, enjoying just being able to touch the detective, however briefly. Looking around for a moment, he finds a chair and pulls it over in order to sit down, sighing a little in relief. "I am a bit tired." he admits, rubbing his forehead for a moment, before he looks over at Sherlock. "So, you're the genius, how long do you think this will take?" he asks curiously as he looks at Sherlock. "Not just finding out the poison, I mean the whole thing?" he asks as he leans back in his chair a little, stretching out his legs in front of him.

Sherlock hmms a little as he looks into the microscope, lifting his head finally to look over at John as he considers the questions. "A week, at the outside." He decides before he adds, "Unless this person is particularly clever, but it would take me about that long to question every person on this base, I would imagine. Perhaps two weeks, if it's particularly difficult to pin down some of the people for questioning." he says before he looks over at John. "I certainly hope that I haven't been mistaken, and that you are not behind this, John." He says with slightly narrowed eyes at the soldier.

Shocked at first, John finally laughs as he looks over at Sherlock, expression surprised but amused. "Yeah, right. You know me, Sherlock, I'm definitely not clever enough to set this up just to bring you here. I could have thought of something much simpler if I wanted to see you again, getting myself shot somehow and sent home, that would do it." he says as he looks at Sherlock with a little smile. "That would be more my style, I'm sure you have to admit. Is there any statistical proof to the saying that poison is a woman's weapon?" He asks as he watches the detective.

With a little smile, partially relieved and partially amused, Sherlock shakes his head. "Yes, that would be the sort of foolish thing you would do, John." He muses with a small shake of his head. "Thank you, that is all I needed to know about your possible involvement." he says dryly before he turns back to his microscope and looks at the slide curiously. "Statistically speaking, women do tend to go for a subtler approach when they are considering murder, just like they tend not to shoot themselves in the head or face." He says casually, before he lifts his head. "How many women are on this base, John?" He asks as he goes through some quick calculations and statistics in his head.

"Probably about a dozen." John says as he thinks about it. "Not that many, considering there's about a hundred and fifty of us altogether." He says as he looks over at Sherlock for a few moments. "We can't discriminate, though, just because it's poison. Though if we did, it would make our suspect pool a great deal smaller." He says before he sighs a little and scrubs a hand over his face, closing his eyes and tilting his head back for a moment.

"Indeed. Get some rest, John. You've kindly provided me with a cot in here, you had better make use of it, I need you to be sharp and on top of your game for this." Sherlock says in a caring, but firm voice, switching out his slides. "Can you hand me one of those bottles of water first? Assuming that they have been cleared as not poisoned." He adds, motioning to a small clustering of bottles set apart from everything else, on the other side of the room in fact.

"Aren't I supposed to be the doctor here?" John asks in amusement before he pushes himself to his feet with a grunt. "Maybe just for a few moments." he decides, walking over and grabbing two of the bottles before he holds one out to Sherlock across the desk.

Reaching out, Sherlock takes the bottle from John, their fingers brushing in the process, something that is quite deliberate on Sherlock's part, although it won't seem like it. "You may be a doctor, John, but you are not the only one with medical knowledge. You do not have to have a degree in order to know a thing or two about human anatomy." He reminds the doctor in a flat tone that seems to have the subtext of 'idiot' behind it.

Not being able to help himself, John smiles a little as he opens his bottle of water, the amusement reflected in his eyes as well. "I suppose not." he says after he takes a drink of water, then he goes over to the cot and sits down. "Wake me in an hour or so, would you?" He asks before he lays down on his back on the cot, the bottle on the ground beside him before he folds his hands over his stomach and closes his eyes with a small sigh.

"I'll wake you if I discover anything of interest." Sherlock says in a distracted tone, opening his water and taking a long drink before he puts it aside in a safe distance from everything else. Once John closes his eyes, the detective looks over at him for a few moments, admiring him with a small smile before he runs both hands through his hair and sits forward to look through the microscope again.

What both of them fail to observe is the biggest weakness of tents such as these. And that is the ease with which someone can eavesdrop. The figure stands in the shadows listening to the conversations and the interplay between the two, the tone of the voices, the obvious affection between the two, that borders on something a little more than friendly. With a twisted, almost cruel, mocking smile, the figure steps back further into the shadows. "I see, a weakness." They mutter before turning and heading back into camp to resume their duties. The shadowed figure has to keep up appearances so no one will suspect them, afterall.

* * *

><p><strong>This may be my favorite plot twist, because it puts Sherlock into John's world for once. It takes Sherlock out of his element, though he isn't REALLY out of his element, since it's still a case. Just a different location. Still, these two will have to be careful how they act around eachother with so many prying eyes, especially since John is such a private person. Thank you all for your wonderful reviews, I love to see them come through on my email, and I love knowing you guys like this so much. It's amazing. I hope you enjoy this chapter!<strong>

**Reviews/Comments welcome!**


	21. Chapter 21

Sherlock finally discovers what the poison is, and he looks up with his mouth open, ready to call out to John what it is, but he stops himself just in time as he realizes that someone might overhear, and also that the doctor is still asleep. So instead, he gets up gracefully from his seat, stretching a little before he walks over to the cot, reaching out to shake John's arms a little. "John! I found it, I found the poison!" He says as he watches the man, reaching out to brush his fingers over the cropped blonde hair.

With a little bit of a snort and a jerk, John wakes up and blinks a few times up at Sherlock. "Sherlock?" he mumbles in confusion before he comes awake fully. "Did you find something?" He asks as he sits up, retrieving his bottle of water and taking a long drink of it, before he rubs the sleep out of one of his eyes.

"Yes, John. It's Ricin, a tasteless, odorless poison produced in the seeds of the castor oil plant. We must move quickly, John. Though death isn't immediate, it can occur within 3-5 days. I've brought up details on the vaccine which I'm sure your commander can acquire somehow, best perhaps to make it seem like an inoculation of some sort that you have to administer to the entire camp, seeing as we don't know who was the target yet or who might have ingested the poison." Sherlock says thoughtfully for a few moments.

Now fully awake, John nods a little. "I've heard of that very dangerous, right?" He asks as he looks at Sherlock for a few moments. "I'll speak to Major Sholto. You're right, we all need to be given the antidote, just in case." He says before he looks at Sherlock warily. "Can I trust you to behave while I'm gone?" He asks skeptically.

Scoffing a little, Sherlock puts his hands in the pockets of his pants since he has no jacket pockets to put them in. "Of course, John. You hardly have to treat me like some stray dog." he scolds with a small shake of his head as he looks around, avoiding John's eyes for a moment. "I may take a little bit of rest myself, it was a rather long flight here." He says casually as he turns and steps back over to his desk, opening the bottle of water there and taking a slow, long drink of it before he looks at John. "Time really is of the essence, John." He reminds the doctor in a slightly bored tone.

While he still doesn't trust the detective completely, John has little choice but to do as the detective says, and he walks over to him, curling a hand around the taller man's bicep. "I'm serious, Sherlock. Behave yourself." he says in a firm tone. "I'll be back soon." He says before he turns on his heel and walks out of the tent confidently to go tell Sholto the news. He's rather shocked that Sherlock found the poison so fast, but then he looks at the sky when he gets outside and realizes he must have been asleep for hours.

Once John is out of the tent, Sherlock grabs the scarf he had before, not intending to get any more sand in his hair or down his shirt or anything, looping it around his neck once again. After that's done, he steps out of the tent, takes stock of everything, and then turns to head toward where the medical tent is, having memorized the location of some things when they walked through and they walked within sight of the medical tent. A bit obvious with the big red cross on the doors. Once he finds his way back there, he frowns a little at it, then strides confidently forward, ducking into it and scanning everything slowly and silently.

Jumping a little at the sudden appearance of someone, a young woman looks up and slams shut what appears to be a journal. "C-can I help you?" She stutters in surprise.

A brief glance is given to the woman, taking in her appearance and the name emblazoned on her chest. "Ah. You must be the Julia I've heard so much about. My name is Sherlock Holmes. Captain Watson has invited me here, and I have Major Sholto's permission to perform a thorough investigation into this poisoning matter." He says bluntly as he watches her, then says, "I need to look around." He announces before he turns and starts to look around the tent. Seeing her now, it makes him feel much better because she's really not all that attractive.

Julia frowns a little at the man. "So you're Sherlock Holmes, the bloke that Dr. Watson is always writing to, yah?" She asks as she looks at him. "Don't see what all the fuss is about." She says as she crosses her arms over her chest. "I had nothing to do with the poisoning, so look wherever you like."She says in a frustrated and slightly angry tone.

"That's because you're an idiot. And a liar." Sherlock says before he whirls to look at her. "When you spoke about the poison you glanced over at this refrigerator here, I'm guessing I'll find the vials of poison. But you're right, you're not alone. Most likely you don't even like John, you're just using him, hoping that he might turn the other way when the first or second deaths happen." He says casually as he takes a menacing step back toward her.

"You're not clever enough to be in this on your own, you have someone else providing you with the poison. All you had to do was get it into the supplies. Which indicates that he is either a well respected person here or someone who merely does not want to draw attention to themselves, offering you as a sacrifice, thinking that if anyone found out that you would be the one to get caught. You have the poison and the means, don't you? As a nurse you are allowed to have needles and paraphernalia." Sherlock says coldly as he looks at her, taking another step closer, watching as she retreats a step to match his approach. "You made one mistake however. You targeted a good man, you targeted John Watson. My only friend, and a man that I greatly admire. You will not get away with this and you will not be so pleased." His tone is cold, flat and dangerous as his hand snakes out to grab onto Julia's arm, a little more firmly than is strictly necessary but he wants to make sure she doesn't escape.

Unfortunately, though he's a brilliant man, he doesn't anticipate the smaller woman having a knife on her, and before he can react, it's in her hand. "Bastard! You stay away from my John!" She nearly screeches as she thrusts forward. And while the detective dodges enough so that she doesn't hit what she wanted, the knife does slide across his side, through the fabric of his shirt. Blood almost instantly starts to stain his shirt, but it didn't hit any organs or anything, it will however require a few stitches. And as the taller man is recovering from that, she slashes at his arm as well, creating a cut down his forearm which makes him release her. "You ruined everything! Everything! He was going to be mine, but you interfered. You should have stayed back in London, you'll regret this!" She hisses before she turns and runs, dropping the knife on her way out.

Heedless of his wounds, Sherlock dashes out after the woman. "Grab her!" He yells as he sees some MP types come from between two tents. Hearing the commanding tone, the two men hardly think twice, and while one misses Julia, the other makes a grab for her and catches her shirt, which is enough for him to get a hold on her. After a little bit of a struggle, eh ends up holding both her arms behind her back, bodily turning them both to face Sherlock. "What now, sir?" he asks as he looks at Julia suspiciously. Only then does the MP see the blood on Sherlock's shirt, and his eyebrows go up, concern settling over his features.

Breathing a little heavily because of the warmer air, Sherlock looks at the man. "Take her to whatever sort of holding area you have set up. Make sure to post guards on her, no visitors. You can verify the orders through Major Sholto, but in the meantime I recommend you lock her up." He says as he jerks his chin toward Julia.

The second MP has joined his friend and they both nod, seeming a little uneasy but they each take a side of Julia and start leading her off. Deciding that he should have his cuts looked at, Sherlock walks stiffly back to the tent he is assigned, just in time to see a certain doctor stomp quickly out of the tent, looking like he's about to explode.

"Bloody Hell, Sherlock! I tell you to stay put for ten bloody minutes, and you bugger off somewhere! You could have.." John pauses as he sees the state Sherlock is in. "Bollocks. Alright. Come on, I don't have any supplies in here." He says as he grabs Sherlock's upper arm and drags him back to the medical tent, glad they're not too far apart. With Julia gone, the tent is empty now, John giving the brunette a little shove toward a cot. "Shirt off." He orders as he gets supplies together.

More amused and feeling a little numb right at the moment, Sherlock nods a little, sitting down and removing his scarf first before he removes his ruined shirt. "Julia was a part of it, but she's not the instigator, she's merely the scape goat for if they got caught, in a situation such as this." he says as he gets the shirt off and looks down at his arm.

Turning back to face the younger man, the doctor sighs a little as he pulls some gloves on. "You're way too skinny, you bloody bastard." He mutters, though he does take a moment to admire the shirtless detective, no matter how inappropriate it might be. "That looks really deep.." He says in concern, a switch flipping as he goes into Doctor mode, crouching beside the cot in order to look at the wound on the side. "Just a few stitches, should be fine." he says before he goes about his work, efficiently dealing with the cut, cleaning it, sewing it and bandaging it, before he moves onto the cut on Sherlock's arm, which is shallow but tends to bleed given the location. He does still wrap it up in a bit of gauze and a few butterfly sutures just for good measure.

"Are you sure she's involved or do you just want her to be?" John asks with a little bit of exasperation, the first time he's stalked since he started this examination.

"I'm certain. Check in that fridge over there, the one with the lock on it, you'll find vials of Ricin in there, since it is a compound that needs to be refrigerated, but that one is obviously restricted to certain personnel, perfect for her." Sherlock says casually, putting up with the poking and prodding, eventually pulling his shirt back over so that he can put it on, even if it's bloodied.

Skeptical but willing to trust his crazy friend, John pulls out his keys and then walks over to the fridge, finding the appropriate one before he opens it and checks inside. These medicines they rarely have the need to use, so he looks through them slowly, frowning a little as he sees some unlabeled vials. Closing the fridge back up and locking it, he sighs a little. "Seems you might be right, Sherlock." He says reluctantly before he looks over at the man with a small shake of his head.

Looking a little bit smug as he starts to button up his shirt, Sherlock looks into John's eyes for a few moments before he responds with the utmost confidence. "Well, of course I'm right."

* * *

><p><strong>First of all, if there is anything in this that makes no sense, it is because I was literally falling asleep while writing it but I wanted to finish it. I caught myself typing some nonsensical phrases a few times. I think I caught everything, but if I missed anything let me know. :) I hope you enjoy it, poor Sherlock just can't do as he's told, but the thought that two soldiers randomly obey him amuses me too. Hope you enjoy it!<strong>

**Reviews/Comments welcome!**


	22. Chapter 22

"When will I see where you're staying, you talk about it so often I think it's only fair." Sherlock says casually after they get back to his tent so that he can change his bloodied shirt. He moves a little more carefully but he doesn't seem to be discouraged by his injuries any.

Sighing a little in exasperation and rubbing his forehead for a moment, John watches the detective carefully. "Sherlock. You need to rest. You just got stabbed for God's sake. Not to mention less than five hours here and you've already caught one person who is associated with the poisonings. Though I think that was mostly luck." he says as he watches the other man for a few moments, sighing a little. "The medical staff here is dwindling by the minute. While you were traipsing about, I talked to Major Sholto, and he's going to arrange for the antidote. Did a bit of research, it shouldn't harm anyone who's not affected." He says quietly as he looks around. "Why don't you get some rest, let things calm down for a bit and then we can start questioning people." He offers as he finally watches the detective again, crossing his arms over his chest stubbornly.

A little frustrated at being blocked at every turn, Sherlock turns sharply to watch John. "I can hardly rest now, John. It's just getting interesting. You should know, the adrenaline that can come with the success in a case!" He says excitedly. "Besides, how am I supposed to find you if I have a revelation and you're not here?" he asks in a derogatory tone as he continues to watch John. "What if I truly need to convey something to you and you're not here? I'm sure that you would say checking every tent would be a waste of time and rather frowned upon." he says as he starts to pace a little, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "Besides, I need a shower." He adds with a slight pout and an almost plaintive tone to his voice.

Not able to help himself, John smiles and then laughs a little as he looks at the pouting face of the overgrown child known as Sherlock Holmes. "Fine." He says as he tries very hard not to grin at the other man. "Alright, fine. I'll show you where everything is.. You should know where the dining tent is as well." He says with a small smile, jerking his head toward the flap. "Might as well bring your shampoo or whatnot with you, you can go to the showers after we're done." he says right before he ducks out of the tent.

Smirking a little in a smug way because he got what he wanted, Sherlock grabs the small bag which has a towel rolled up inside of it, following John out of the tent. "Excellent idea, John. Though you may have to redo the bandages after I've washed up." He says thoughtfully, shifting his hold on the bag to his uninjured arm before he looks at John expectantly.

"Well, I am a doctor. That's sort of my specialty, Sherlock. Patching people up, that is. I've got a bit of work to get done at the infirmary anyway so you can just come by when you're done." John says as he starts to lead Sherlock away, nodding to a few people when he passes them, saluting any higher ranking officers. Finally, he motions. "Dining tent is there.. showers are in there." He says as he points to a separate tent by a nearby one, then he swings back around toward his own tent.

Knowing that Sherlock won't be content with just seeing the outside, John motions. "Come on. It's not like I'm the only one in here, the two other doctors and I used to all share the tent, but now of course it's just me and Dr. Waits, who usually works at night, but he's usually out at this point." he says as he glances at Sherlock, then ducks inside the tent.

Immediately upon entering the tent it's obvious that something is wrong. For one, it's messy, clothes strewn about like someone was searching for something, but it's only near John's bunk. The second thing that's noticeably wrong with that area is that there are paper shreds littering his bed. And that is what John focuses on, a look of shock on his face. "No.." He breathes as he rushes over and starts picking up the pieces of paper, looking over at where he had hung up some of the sketches that Sherlock sent him. Every single one of them has been torn down and shredded into pieces. "Bloody hell.. your sketches, Sherlock.. someone destroyed them.." he says before something occurs to him and he kneels beside the bed, reaching under to pull out a small locked box, sagging in relief as he opens it and sees the letters in there which are still in one piece. "Oh, thank God.." he mutters before he closes the box.

Sherlock stares for a few moments, taking everything in as if this were a crime scene, narrowing his eyes a little as they bounce from one thing to another. Finally, he steps forward, picking up a few of the pieces of paper. "They're just pictures, John. I can make more." He says as he drops the pieces back onto the bed. When John looks up at him with a somewhat devastated expression, he rethinks his words for a moment as he looks into the deep blue eyes of his doctor. "Sentiment." he states after a moment, nodding in understanding. Gently, he sits on the edge of the bed and puts his hand on John's shoulder. "I cannot recreate them, John. I cannot remember what most of them were. I only continued to draw them because I knew it would cheer you up." He says before he shrugs slightly. "But I can make more." he reassures as he looks at him.

Carefully starting to pick up the pieces of paper, John purses his lips, mouth working for a few moments as he fights back the tears that are threatening. Finally, he takes a sudden, deep breath through his mouth and looks up at Sherlock. "Do you think it was Julia?" he asks as he looks around, piling all the little pieces of paper together before he turns to start picking up his clothes, making sure that nothing else was moved or taken.

"Undoubtedly." Sherlock says with a small nod of his head. "When I spoke to her, she was rather upset that you had not returned her affections, and blamed me for interfering, somehow." The look on his face is one of disbelief and then frustration as he explains that, looking around slowly for a moment. "Likely she was very angry at you for not returning her affections, or perhaps merely for bringing me here." he says thoughtfully, pressing his palms together and placing them in front of his face slowly.

"What? What are you thinking, Sherlock? I recognize that face, you've just had some sort of idea you're musing over." John says warily as he looks at the detective carefully, moving back to stand near him so that he can see his facial expressions better. Yes, maybe he hasn't spent a lot of time around the detective, but he is a creature of habit, the same movements, especially when it comes to his hands and certain things.

"Just thinking, John, perhaps it's something that you should try once in a while." Sherlock says off-handedly before he looks up at John for a moment, sighing and looking away. "Someone like her, like Julia, could not have orchestrated the poisoning herself. She's not smart or stable enough. She would, however, be easy to manipulate." Sherlock says as he slowly stands up, standing rather close to John now. "There's still too many people, and not enough evidence. We need more evidence." He says in frustration as he looks down at the doctor for a moment.

Not backing off from his position, John watches the detective for a moment before he nods quietly. "We'll find it, Sherlock." He reassures as he looks at the taller man. "You've just barely got on the case, you'll probably have it solved in under two days, you'll see." he says with a small smile, before he takes a deep breath. "You.. should go and get that shower, I'll meet you at the infirmary after and redo your bandages." He says with a small nod of his head.

Looking down at John for a few moments, eyes moving over his face slowly, searchingly, before he nods quietly for a few moments. "Indeed." He finally says, though for a moment it almost looked like he was going to kiss the doctor, the way he swayed forward with his eyes focused on John's lips. With a sharp inhale, Sherlock turns away and then heads for the door. "Quite right, John. No need to rush things now that we have the poison, which you should deal with. They won't risk trying to use that poison again, not while I'm here, it would draw too much attention. You need some rest, John, you're still pale." He decides before he says, "This is quite an interesting case.. Thank you, John." he says with a small smile before he exits to go take a shower.

A little disappointed, John lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding when the other man leaves, and he sighs a little, taking a few deep breaths. "Bloody hell, John.. get a hold of yourself." He mutters to himself before he looks back at the shredded pieces of paper, leaving them there and finishing cleaning up before he heads to the infirmary so that he can secure the Ricin and tend to any patients that might crop up. Seeing as how Julia was on duty and now she's under arrest, it means that he's going to be pulling double duty. Once he has all the paperwork and inventory done, he sits down in one of the hairs, scrubbing hands over his face and sighing before he leans over and puts his head on the desk. Just ten minutes, he promises himself as he folds his arms under his head, closing his eyes a little. Ten minutes which of course turns into more because he quickly falls asleep with no alarm to wake him.

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><p><strong>Short little cute chapter. Now if only they had a bit more privacy, Sherlock might get the kiss he wants, subconsciously. lol. Or at least a bit of a cuddle perhaps. But that would not be very professional. Poor John, with those sketches, Julia is an awful, awful woman. At least she didn't get to the letters. Thank you all for reading!<strong>

**Reviews/Comments welcome!**


	23. Chapter 23

After he's finished with his shower, Sherlock makes his way back to the medical tent, glancing around until he sees John at his desk, shaking his head. It's really not a smart idea to be falling asleep and so vulnerable at a time like this. Still, he knows that this has all been taxing on the doctor, not to mention still recovering from being sick. When he gets close enough, the detective reaches out and runs his fingers over the short blonde hair of the doctor. "John." He says as he looks at him, leaning down and tentatively placing a soft kiss on his forehead, the brunette's own damp hair brushing the older man's forehead.

John jerks awake a little with a sharp breath before he lifts his head slightly. For a moment he's disoriented, not entirely sure where he is, and then he glances up at Sherlock. "Did I fall asleep?" He asks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he sits up fully and glances around. "Damn, meant to rest for a minute." He says before he takes a better look at the freshly showered man in front of him.

Arching an eyebrow as he watches the older man, Sherlock nods a little. "For a little while, it seems." He says before he glances around the tent. "Not a very wise thing to do, considering there is a potential murderer out there, and you are quite alone here." He scolds lightly before he adds, "I believe you wanted to re-dress my wounds, John?" He points out to bring the man back to the present and his job.

"Right. Yes. Of course. Sit down." John says as he gets up, stretching before he gets his supplies efficiently. "I hope you didn't re-open anything or break the stitches while you were showering." The doctor says in a firm tone as he returns to where Sherlock sat down, sitting down in a chair he brings over so that their knees almost touch before he places his tray of supplies next to Sherlock and reaches over to lift the side of his shirt and apply the medicated bandage.

Taking over holding his shirt so that he can keep his arm out of the way as well, Sherlock watches John intensely before he answers. "No, I did not re-open anything." He says in a manner that almost makes him sound offended, lowering his shirt and his arm when John is done before pulling up his opposite sleeve and allowing John to wrap his arm back up, even though the cut is not that bad. Believe it or not, the detective gets a bit concerned when he has injuries such as these, since he hates lengthy recoveries, and will do what it takes in order to shorten it. Which usually means taking very good care of the injuries for a while.

Since he doesn't have anything else to say and the silence is getting slightly awkward, John glances up at Sherlock while he wraps some gauze around his arm. "Any ideas of where to start finding our suspect?" he asks casually, not sure why it's so difficult for him right now to just interact normally with Sherlock. It's probably just the stress of everything and him being tired, he rationalizes.

"Not yet. Julia was the obvious person of course, but she's a red herring. I'll need to question her to find out if she knows anything about who hired or inspired her to do what she did." Sherlock says as he stares off at a point of the tent, diving into his own mind for a few minutes. "Unlikely I'll be able to find out if there was any financial motive unless she was paid in cash but that would be highly suspicious. Wire transfer would be the logical choice, but that would be something difficult to track down without some sort of law enforcement intervention. Certainly not something I could do from here." He considers for a few moments. "But it had to be someone Julia interacted with regularly, who would know about her obsession with you. You said she'd only been here a few months, correct?"

"Yeah. She transferred in shortly after I got back from Christmas." John confirms as he watches Sherlock, finishing his bandage before setting his supplies aside to try and follow the train of thought of the mad genius. "She came here shortly after she reported to Major Sholto, I think." He says as he tries to remember, rubbing his fingertips across his forehead in thought.

Now that his arm is freed, Sherlock presses his palms together as he continues to stare at the spot of the tent he's been focusing on. "I see. And she immediately seemed to form an attachment to you, didn't she? Obviously mentally unstable, highly surprising that she got through training to be posted here." Sherlock says before he gasps a little. "That's it!" He says as he looks at John. "While I do believe Julia has the expertise to be a nurse, perhaps she was not the soldier we thought she was." He says firmly as he looks at John. "We need to have a full background check ran on her, we need her records from her previous commanders." He says firmly before he pops up to his feet.

Trying to follow the detective's train of thought is a little difficult sometimes especially when John is still slightly groggy. But when he understands, his eyes widen and he stands up as well, not being too far away from the detective at this point. "I never thought about it, I thought it was just because she was young, but you might be right. She was never really comfortable around here. Not because she was new, but sort of the way that people get around military installations if they're not part of it. The way they look at things. Like I said, I sort of brushed it off as her being young and new. She'd never been deployed before, or so she told me." He says as he considers it, looking up at Sherlock. "You are bloody brilliant. Why didn't I see that?" he mutters, annoyed with himself.

"Because you're an idiot." Sherlock says seriously as he looks down at John, then when the doctor starts to look offended, he rolls his eyes slightly. "Oh, don't look at me like that. You know what I meant." He says scoldingly before he smiles a little, his mood lifted by having such an interesting case at hand. "You're my idiot, John, and you keep me right." He says before he lifts his long-fingered hands, putting them on either side of John's face before he leans down swiftly and places a chaste but slightly lingering kiss on John's lips. Quickly, the detective releases his doctor and moves away from him as if nothing just happened, sweeping out of the tent to go who knows where.

To say that John is shocked is an understatement, and for a moment, he merely stands there, stunned, and staring at the spot where Sherlock was a moment ago. Then the color creeps up his face, turning the tips of his ears pink and his hands ball into fists. "Bloody bastard." He mutters before he turns to hurry after the younger man, not wanting to let him wander around the base by himself lest he get himself into even more trouble.

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><p><strong>Hehe, trust Sherlock to shock John. He can't exactly confront him in public about that, though, now can he? Wonder what will happen when he finally gets to pin down Sherlock to ask him about that. Looks like it might be a while though, Sherlock's got a lead! Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy this chapter. :)<strong>

**Reviews/Comments welcome!**


	24. Chapter 24

As always when Julia saw him, when he entered what passed for the brig, he stayed in the shadows, a hood mostly obscuring his head and face. "You got yourself caught. I told you to be more careful, to be patient. But you could not even follow such simple orders. It's a wonder that you got this far in a military assignment. Or perhaps it was true, the rumors I heard about you enjoying more physical forms of advancement.." His voice was low, bored, and more than a little suggestive, his stance predatory despite seeming relaxed. Everything about this man oozed danger and gave a slimy, oily feeling.

From where she was laying on the cot provided for her, Julia swiftly sits up, and then stands, stripped down to just her fatigue pants and her tank top since the room is stifling warm in the afternoon heat. "I was careful, and patient. You said that he would fall for me for sure. You said he wouldn't be able to help himself, and that the other stuff would only help when I could miraculously find a cure. But he didn't fall for me, he didn't even look at me. You lied!" She says sharply, hands balling into fists as she glares at the shadowy figure.

Although his face was hidden, her mysterious benefactor's smile could be heard through his voice. "Impatient. Perhaps he would have fallen for you had you not acted like the bimbo you are. Oh well. It seems that there's nothing to be done, now. Especially since they brought that other man in. That was unexpected. He's the man that Captain Watson writes to, isn't he?" His voice turns from light and pleasant to sharp and demanding in the space of a breath, leaning forward a little, threateningly, but never out of the shadows.

Instinctively, Julia shrinks back from the advancement of the man that both scares her and thrills her with his presence. The man that told her she could have everything she wanted if she just followed his orders. "Yes, that's the man he writes letters to. He isn't supposed to be here. He's not even military, or government."

"Ah, my dear. That is why you are in the position you are. What you fail to realize, is that since your little temper tantrum which led to Captain Watson finding out about your scheme, they could hardly trust anyone in the military, could they? They had to bring in outside help in order to have an impartial investigation. Especially since they - quite rightly - assumed that it had to be someone in the camp who was poisoning everyone." A small laugh comes from the man, but there's no humor in it. HIs tone is light once more, and condescending as he seems to regard Julia, his gaze piercing through the shadows and through her. "You foolish, selfish girl. You have been unable to see the bigger picture, and now, I'm afraid, you're going to have to pay for that." HIs voice drops, and he sounds disappointed as he looks down at the ground for a moment.

"What.. what do you mean.. pay for it?" Julia starts to feel a little more nervous now, knowing how dangerous this man is. She realizes also that she did not think her plan through fully and now knows that there are quite a few things that could happen to her now, and all of them will be orchestrated by this man in front of her.

There's that small smile in his voice and the oily, sweet tone to the man's voice as he speaks again. "Well, you are locked up in a cage, are you not?" he asks, a small chuckle coming from him. "This makes things more interesting, so I can't be too angry with you, I suppose. I do like having a few more playmates. I'll merely accelerate my plans and throw in something to keep this new, intriguing player something to do." tilting his head back a little, he laughs, the sound bordering on maniacal. "Enjoy your water, Julia.." he oozes before he turns and walks out of the tent.

It's just then that the young nurse thinks about just how unhinged her benefactor might be, and she takes another step back, sitting on the cot heavily and just staring at the doorway. The thought also occurred to her that she has no idea how that man got past the guards that are supposed to be out front. A shiver goes down her spine as the last words of his penetrate her numbness. 'Enjoy your water'. Looking down slowly at her half-finished water on the floor, she stares at it in fear, wondering what it might mean.

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><p><strong>Sorry, I know it's short, and it's been a bit since I updated. This scene has been bugging me though as I decide what direction to take this story. As to the delay, I've had work, and then I was sick for like a week. It's been going around and apparently even I can't avoid it forever. So I hope you forgive the tardiness and shortness. And I hope you enjoy it as well! Thanks for still reading!<strong>

**Comments/Reviews welcome!**


	25. Chapter 25

Unfortunately, Sherlock's longer legs keep give him an advantage in getting ahead of John, plus the few moments of shock that kept the doctor in place. By the time he gets out of the tent and starts heading toward where he thought he saw the detective went, the taller man is already gone.

As he passes the tent, Major Sholto - who was standing outside smoking - looks over at John, and calls out, "Watson. Good. I need to speak to you." He ducks back into the tent after stubbing out his cigarette, waiting for the doctor to join him.

Making a frustrated noise in his throat, John glances at where he thinks Sherlock went, then he sighs and obeys his commander, stepping into the tent and snapping off a salute. "Sir." he says as he glances around briefly then returns his eyes forward.

"First of all, good job with what you've done so far. You're right, Mr. Holmes is very intelligent. I can see why you were hesitant to contact him at first, I've heard that he's not exactly very friendly. Thankfully, we don't need him to be friendly, we just need him to do his job." Sholto says after returning the salute, then he motions. "Please, sit down." He says as he, too, sits down behind his desk.

This sounds a little ominous, but John nods a little, sitting down in one of the chairs. "Thank you, sir. If I may, Sherlock can be a git, but he's a bloody genius. He's like a bulldog when he gets a case, he won't stop until he's solved it." he reassures with a small nod of his head, hopin that his evaluation of the man is correct.

Sholto nods a little, picking up a mug of coffee that he has on his desk, taking a sip out of it. "Good news, we should have more medical personnel here tomorrow morning to help take over for you, so you can get some proper rest." he says, glancing away from the doctor for a few moments, seeming to be beating around the bush about something.

"Thank you, sir. I'm hesitant to give Sherlock free reign on base with people who are already a little tense and have guns." John says with a slight smirk as he looks at his commander, then he says, "If I may, sir, it's obviously there's something that you want to tell me. Get to the point, sir." He says in a firm tone, being a little irritable already out of lack of sleep and getting over the flu as well as Sherlock's kiss ambush from earlier.

"Yes, well, you're right, Watson, there is a problem that I wanted you to know about before it became general knowledge." Sholto says as he leans forward on his desk a little to look at the blue eyes of his subordinate and, he'd like to think, his friend. "The woman we had in custody, your nurse, is dead." he says simply as he watches John carefully. "Obviously we haven't had you examine the body yet, but since there were no obvious wounds, gunshot or otherwise, I'm presuming it's some sort of poisoning. Just a matter of if she did it to herself, or if we have bigger problems." He says darkly as he leans forward a little.

A small frown crosses John's face as he looks at the Major, leaning back in his chair a little. "I would put money on her being poisoned by someone outside, not her doing it herself." He says thoughtfully as he watches Sholto, then he scrubs a hand over his face. "The medical staff coming in, are they coming with the medicine we need? I think it would be best if they did the innoculations." He decides, then adds, "Afterall, you can't know that I'm not a part of all this, especially since the poison was kept in the infirmary."

Smiling slightly, the Major nods silently. "I was going to approach it a little more delicately than that, but thank you for saving me the trouble, Captain." Sholto smiles a little again as he leans back in his chair. "Yes, they will be bringing the medicine, and yes, we will start innoculations as soon as they arrive. I want you to assist Mr. Holmes, smooth down any ruffled feathers people might get."

John nods quietly as he watches Sholto. "Yes, sir. Probably a good idea." His smile ends up coming across as a bit fond, but he can't help himself, with how close he feels to Sherlock, and everything that's happened.

Major Sholto watches John for a few moments, and then nods slowly as he stands. "Get some sleep, Watson." he says simply, taking another drink of his coffee and then putting the mug aside. "I have a feeling you'll need it.

Standing automatically when Sholto does, John nods sharply. "Yes, sir. Thank you." He says with a slightly sheepish tone as he holds back a yawn, saluting the Major before he turns and heads out, and turns toward his own quarters. Sighing, he scrubs his hands over his face again, feeling the full weight of his fatigue. He knows he's still recovering from hsi flu as well, and he really should be taking it easy. But with this going on he doesn't see how he can, really.

Unfortunately in this tired and distracted state, John makes an easy target. Near the edge of the camp, the same path he always takes back to bed, he is suddenly grabbed from behind, a cloth placed over his face, and the last thing that he can recall is a sickly sweet smell. Chloroform, his mind supplies, right before his world goes dark.

"Bring him." The mastermind, the man who keeps himself in shadow, says to the man who had grabbed the Captain. "He will make a good distraction for Mr. Holmes until we finish our mission." He says before he turns to lead the way out of camp. This leaves the other man to deal with carrying John as the wind picks up, aiding the two men by erasing their footsteps, heralding an incoming storm.

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><p><strong>Dun-dun-duuunnn. Sorry for the cliffhanger. Mostly. ;) Hope you enjoyed it, I am sure the next chapter is going to be very long because once Sherlock finds out, he is going to flip his lid, most likely. Base, beware! Thanks for reading!<strong>

**Comments/Reviews welcome!**


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